Quid pro quo
by bibliophile tropicale
Summary: The sequel to the beginning-Trials & Tribulations and Pas de deux. More Perry, more memories, more characters, and more intrigue on the court. 'Something for something'-the plot thickens. CHAPTER 6 ADDED.
1. Chapter 1

"_**Quid pro quo"**_

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_Thursday_

**_~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~_**

Perry Mason stepped out of the shower and began to dress. Sliding the closet door to the side his hands trailed over familiar textures before encountering incredible softness buried deep in the corner behind layers of shirts -a pink cashmere sweater with matching pearl buttons. Pulling it from the recess, he continued to enjoy its softness and brought the sweater to his face and inhaled. Was it his imagination or did he detect a fragrance?

Why did he have the sweater? Despite the icy silence separating them they had been able to dismantle their conjoined lives. The sweater could have easily been returned then-but it wasn't. Instead, the sweater along with memories had traveled to San Francisco. It didn't take a detective's logic to understand the sweater's significance. Even the lawyer knew…his last thoughts on earth would be of Della Street.

Relishing the feel of the fine wool and the thoughts of the woman who wore it, he heaved a jagged sigh and tenderly replaced the sweater and continued to dress. Slipping on black dress pants, a comfortable navy sweater and gray jacket, he stepped to the mirror, ran a comb through his hair and returned to his kitchen.

A large insulated delivery container from Gilberto's sat on the counter along with the copy of _National Geographic_. The magazine was open to the photo of the charging bull and graceful matador. During his ride from the courthouse he had managed to peruse the remaining photographs.

The photo spread was quite spectacular focusing on Andalusia, Spain and its magnificent Guadalquivir River Valley and Sierra Moreno Mountains. The writer meticulously describes the life of a vaquero-a life of hard work and hard play on a grand ganaderia. The photographer captured the young vaqueros at work using lances to control and maneuver the fighting bulls and then at play when riders and horses create a swirling vortex in a game of bravery and skill called the 'Correr el gallo, or 'the chicken race'.

Mason smiled and recalled his own youthful adventures on horseback. He and Max, a beautiful smoky gray gelding with black mane and tail had grown up together. Pressing the envelope at every opportunity he and Max had dared to race and jump obstacles other riders would not dare. Mason chuckled softly and allowed his fingertips to gently trail over the young men on horseback, feeling their energy and excitement. Yes, Max was an amazing animal.

The gelding would prance and pull at the bit, and enjoyed the thrill of racing as much as his youthful rider. Both were eager and willing to take chances and had learned the recipe for success-move fast, take chances and keep one jump ahead of competitors. Feeling a deep sense of remorse he took a deep breath and used the back of his hand to sweep across moist eyes at the memory of his beloved, Max.

Mason turned to another full photo. Against a veil of darkness a bright orange campfire burned and dark silhouettes clapped and danced to the sounds of a flamenco guitar. The caption explained how the writer played for the young vaqueros who had become his compañeros. Mason's eyes intensely studied the man with the guitar. Glancing up in thought, he noticed the time and realized he needed to leave. He closed the magazine and slipped it inside his binder. Retrieving his coat and the Gilberto's container Mason headed for his car.

Minutes later Mason was traveling through pockets of fog in the wooded areas of the Golden Gate Park and the Citadel. Out of habit the lawyer pressed down on the accelerator causing tufts of fog to race through the beams of his headlights. To his right the lights of the San Francisco skylight appeared to wink on and off. Feeling a sense of déjà vu the lawyer turned his attention to the passenger seat.

_The lawyer pressed down on the accelerator causing the speedometer needle to quiver into the high numbers as the Cadillac swept through the foggy night. He was in a jam, a legal conundrum and time was of the essence. The steady pulse of the street lights rhythmically illuminated the interior giving Mason a chance to steal glances at Della Street in the passenger seat. _

'_Damn he hated that look.' He had seen the look before-the ram-rod straight posture, pursed lips, eyes shiny and on the verge of tears and her stolen furtive glances watching him all while trying to maintain a stoic veneer._

_Things were bad- he knew it- and Della knew it. He could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. 'Damn he hated that look!'_

"_You'll feel better when we eat," he said._

_Della's eyes shot to Mason's in disbelief, as though saying how could you think of food at a time like this._

_In the backseat, the sleeping Paul Drake shuffled, turned, and mumbled to those in the front, "Did you say we're eating!"_

_Glancing over her shoulder at the reclining detective, Della snapped, "No, Paul, we're not eating! Go back to sleep!"_

"_Anything you say, beautiful," Paul replied, oblivious to the irritation in her voice, as he returned to his comfortable spot in the backseat._

_Turning her attention to Mason, she fought back tears. "That little blonde hustler, I knew she was trouble the first time I saw her and now she's got you in a major fix, accessory to murder, tampering with evidence." _

_The lawyer glanced ahead, tapped the brakes and swerved around a stopped car in their path, then jerked his head in her direction. "I don't like it any more than you do," he snapped._

_Facing away from him, she moistened her lips and secretly wiped away a tear, stalling, gathering the strength to face him. "You'll be disbarred. You could go to jail, you know that."_

"_Damn right I know it, Della." Pressing down on the accelerator, the streetlights and cars whizzed by, the lawyer pursed his lips, controlling his anger, while his eyes moving in thought._

_Turing to face her, he managed to capture her eyes with his, held her attention and in a voice thick with emotion, he pleaded, "I've asked you to trust me before."_

_Della's eyes broke away for a moment and answered softly. "I want to trust you. It's just that….. it's not easy… you take too many chances."_

"_That's the way I'm made, that's who I am." Mason stated matter of factly before releasing a sly smile. "You can't have your cake and eat it too."_

"_Hey, are we eating?" Paul called again from the back seat._

"_No, Paul!" Della's eyes rolled in exasperation. "Go back to sleep!"_

_With heavy lidded eyes, the detective's face hovered above the back seat, and asked, "But I know I heard cake!"_

_Lips pursed, Mason shook his head, looked in the rear view mirror and waited for the detective to grow drowsy and resume his slumber. _

_Slowly the car grew silent again, only the groan of the engine and the rhythmic snoring of the detective could be heard._

"_You can't have your cake and eat it too," He repeated softly. "Della…..you can't tell me you don't enjoy a break from the mail, the daily routine, that you don't enjoy the thrill…. the action… the mystery as much as I do." The lawyer maneuvered the car into an illuminated side street nearing their destination._

_Leaning into the turn, Della's eyes swept up to meet his and whispered, "You know I do."_

_Mason's eyes softened at her acquiescence. "You can't have me both ways; I'm either one or the other."_

_The lawyer noticed her hands toying with her handkerchief and reached over with his right and slipped his fingers protectively around hers giving them a reassuring squeeze._

"_I've never tried a case in my life where I didn't leave myself open to attacks-that's the way I play the game. I know it's not easy, but please take me as I am."_

_Feeling the strength and gentleness of his fingers she managed a weak smile and looked into his face._

_Managing a boyish grin, Mason continued. "Because if you don't take me as I am my dear Della, you might find I could be guilty of the greatest sin of all-being uninteresting!"_

_Della's heart was in her eyes. In one smooth motion the car moved to the curb and stopped, Mason leaned across the seat, and slipped his fingers beneath her chin for a long loving kiss._

_Feeling the car stop, Paul Drake stirred and slowly rose to the rear window and looked out. Through bleary eyes he studied the buildings for familiar landmarks. "Hey, folks, I thought we were stopping to eat!"_

_Hearing the detective's voice, they immediately slipped free of their embrace and turned to their confused passenger as he looked back and forth between the side and rear windows. _

_Leaning into the lawyer, Della softly whispered, "You…..being uninteresting." Mason's eyes narrowed with fascination as she continued. "Now that would certainly be a crime."_

Mason stopped his vehicle in the driveway of 15 Madrona Avenue and couldn't remember the drive from his apartment. Eyes moving in thought, he stared at the empty seat beside him and thought of Della's words. Was it possible? _Am I guilty of being uninteresting?_

**_~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~_**

_**15 Madrona Avenue, Sausalito**_

Carefully one foot, then its mate slipped through the mist of the shower and padded across the tiles of the bath. In one fluid motion the towel became a ceremonial shawl. Eyes closed, the towel twirled and swirled to the flamenco music playing in her head. Gracefully her slender feet moved to the staccato rhythm of the guitar and dreamed of the dancing vaqueros.

_The campfire created a wall of orange upon which the dark silhouettes danced and stomped their feet in time with their homemade castanets. Their strong fingers snapped shells or hard wood held together with strips of leather and matched the fiery rhythm of the guitar and make-shift drums. Their compañeros cheered and the group moved like an undulating wave around the writer who worked his magical guitar. Scurrying through the dark, she snapped image after image of the celebration and the writer who had become one of them._

_As the night deepened and the music and dancing began to fade, the campfire became a mound of glowing ashes. Carefully, she worked her way through saddles and bedding on her way to her tent. A large, low slung tent was setup not too far from her own provisions. Pausing, she studied the design and recalled seeing similar tents used by the Bedouins. A single lamp illuminated the interior and slowly she bent beneath the edge of the tent and stepped into a circle of light. Semi-reclined in a sea of provisions, the guitarist busily wrote in his journal. The metamorphosis was amazing, groomed and free of dust, dark wet hair neatly combed, a pair of wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, coupled with a tweedy sweater and pair of gray corduroy jeans, the guitarist was transformed and could have easily passed for a college professor writing at his desk. He glanced up, deep in thought, eyes focusing on some distant object before turning his attention again to his journal. The acoustic guitar lay amidst the gear, its magical qualities no longer needed. _

_Stepping further into the tent she began to look around. Spilling from a black paramilitary-style raid sack were Nalgene water bottles, a crank charged flashlight/radio, two pints of Johnny Walker Black, a UV steripen and Katadyn water filter, duct tape, baling wire, books and journals. A plastic box resembling a fishing tackle box lay open and contained medical gear and a pharmacopeia of drugs, antibiotics, deworming serum, antimalarials, analgesics, syringes, scalpels, suturing needle and thread, gauze and tape, the box was filled, ready for any medical emergency. A leather suitcase, partially opened, revealed modest clothing, a pipe, a pouch of tobacco, the barrel of a revolver, and the leather hilt of a hunting knife. Surrounding them were more cases containing gear necessary for travel anywhere in the world. _

_The man who leisurely reclined before her was more than a writer; he was an adventurer. And like a chameleon he would blend and assimilate with the people and things about which he would write. _

_Staring at the barrel of the revolver peeking from beneath his clothing, she wondered if he had ever had the opportunity to use it._

"_Its health insurance," he said flatly, not looking up from his journal._

_He was either able to read her mind or was watching her like a hawk from his peripheral vision, either way, she smiled and found his comment amusing._

"_Used one?" he asked simply, continuing to fill the page with elegant cursive writing._

_Staring at the barrel of the revolver, brows knitted in thought she recalled her dad's instruction on the proper use of a pistol. Under his tutelage she finally lost the fear of the weapon and remembered she wasn't an Annie Oakley. She finally replied. "Yeah."_

_Seconds passed as a gentle breeze flowed through the tent rustling papers and canvas. _

"_Could you pull the trigger?" he asked in an eerily calm voice that belied the intensity of the question. His eyes left the paper and for the first time he looked at her. _

_The question was brief, but expressed volumes. Photographic assignments around the world could be dangerous. In certain locations and situations well-laid plans could easily go sideways in a heartbeat and then what? _

_Could she pull the trigger? Controlling emotions, thinking logically, she had honed these skills to a fine art while taking photographs under dangerous circumstances. But could she control emotions and think logically in a life and death struggle? _

_Could she protect herself or someone she loved? Could she pull the trigger?_

Slowly the ceremonial shawl lowered and her feet stopped moving. His question filled her thoughts. '_Could you pull the trigger?' he asked. _Not a day passed that she did not think of that question or of the day she would be tested.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the chimes of the doorbell. A visitor? It was after all Thursday and she did have a standing appointment. But that was for later. Checking the time while pulling on a robe and running her fingers through her hair, she hurriedly moved through the house to the side door. Peering through the peep hole, she shook her head. What an ironic surprise-the judge who could barely find the time had arrived early.

As the door opened cool misty air rushed in, swirling the edges of her silken kimono revealing a pair of trim, shapely legs. Mason couldn't help but appreciate the titillating view as he held his binder and insulated bag outside her door. Valentina noticed the justice's appreciative eye and pulled the kimono a little closer.

"You're early," she announced, holding her kimono and struggling with a moist lock of hair that insisted on falling across her forehead.

Looking down at his packages, Mason smiled. "I hope I haven't intruded."

The artist shook her head and stepped aside so he might enter.

"I brought along dinner; that is if you haven't already eaten."

"Eaten," Valentina replied as though the thought was a novel idea.

Mason followed, admiring the elegant wisteria print kimono and graceful woman who wore it.

The artist moved through her studio, leading her visitor to the kitchen and dining room while making idle conversation. "No, I haven't eaten and it is Thursday." She laughed nervously.

"You can set your food there." She pointed to a kitchen counter. "I'll just change and then…..well…." She paused and stared at the insulated container from one of San Francisco's top rated restaurants and felt momentarily overwhelmed. "Dinner, you're so thoughtful, Your Honor."

The judge released an urbane smile and took in the neat and orderly kitchen and dining area. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

Shaking her head, Valentina replied, "Oh, no, not at all. I'll change, just make yourself at home."

As the artist disappeared through the door to her bedroom, Mason turned his attention to his surroundings with a detective's eye. In every direction were paintings and photographs on display along with knickknacks from around the world. Nothing went unnoticed, the storyteller doll from New Mexico, a brass Buddha from Tibet, several puppets from Indonesia, an agate paperweight, a bone letter opener, and a collection of assorted Japanese netsuke. Even the number and style of dishes and glassware sitting near the sink and the variety of spices and cooking utensil, all were carefully observed. But the large spacious windows facing out on the bay commanded his attention. Slipping off his topcoat and draping it over a stuffed chair, he slipped his hands into his pockets and moved around. Glancing around the house it soon became apparent the panoramic windows were the epicenter of the house, the design, and layout, all artistically focused on this one breath-taking view.

Turning full circle, Mason observed the neatness and precision, like the order and detail of a French Garden. Nothing was left to chance in this orderly world. Surrounded by clues, each strategically placed all forming connections. Was it intentional or by accident? Or did the clues rely on the eye of the observer? Mason's eyes narrowed in thought as he turned and studied the distant city skyline taking shape in the darkening shadows. Lights formed the outline of buildings; even the light from his own window was easily viewed.

On the shelf below the windows were neatly arranged photo albums. On their spines, the year, place and _National Geographic_ issues were neatly labeled. Removing his hand from his pocket, he allowed his fingertips to trail over the soft leather binding of an album. The soft leather albums, the view, the light of his apartment from her window were details, clues, connections.

After their first meeting it was ironic. When standing by his window, out of all the lights in Sausalito, he knew which light was hers and had the strange sensation she was standing at this same spot looking at him.

"_Do you believe in fate?"_ Tom Robertson asked years ago when he described his fateful encounter with Bull Johnson and his young protégé on a Colorado trout stream. He could have been practicing law in Colorado. Then years later he and Robertson were united again over a missing wallet and enigmatic zeroes on a check. It was true, fate had brought them together. And even though Robertson was a son of a bitch, he did have a point, there were moments 'fate' had shaped his life. Perhaps this was one of them.

Looking up, he casually surveyed the room and heard muffled sounds coming from what he presumed was a bedroom. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't resist and allowed his fingers to glide across the album cover, opened it and turned to the first photo.

So absorbed in the album the lawyer did not realize the bedroom door was ajar. Fully dressed Valentina watched the broad-shouldered man with the intense blue eyes turn page after page of the photo album. Leaning against the doorframe she watched, waited and daydreamed.

_The wind snapped the edges of the Bedouin tent and the structure gently swayed. Stretching his leg, then his back, his thoughts, like water, had stopped flowing and became mere drops as the writer's hand began to slow. Patiently she had watched, waited and thought while he wrote. They needed to talk and coordinate their story, she was anxious to start her assignment with the Geographic. Obviously the magazine had been satisfied with the expertise of this writer and had paired them for this assignment. She was no novice; she had worked on other assignments and understood the process and knew the next step would be the challenge of bringing them together to make a team._

_Finally as his pen paused above his paper, she broke the silence. "We need to talk."_

_Without looking up, he looked across the tent as though trying to envision his thoughts in print and replied, "You're talking now."_

_Instantly annoyed, her hands moved to her hips. She caught herself rolling her eyes and stopped, trying to remain calm and composed. _

"_No, 'we' need to talk. National Geographic expects this story to be interesting; it has to be more than just beautiful photographs!" she blurted out._

_The transition was startling. Forcefully he shoved the pen between the journal pages and was on his feet._

"_Interesting! Just beautiful photographs!" he repeated indignantly, hands on his hips, chin held high. "It has to be more than about photographs!" He repeated in disbelief and took a step toward her. His movements and words startled her as she realized this was not the kind of talk she had envisioned._

_Blue eyes blazing, he declared, "I've never written an uninteresting story in my life!" His eyes darted over her. "Photographs! Is that all you think people want from the National Geographic-photographs?"_

"_Well," she began slowly, his response taking her by surprise. "I've never taken an uninteresting photograph in my life either," then hotly added, "And yes, people do think of photographs and the National Geographic!" She stepped closer in defiance, their faces so close she could feel his breath and the heat from his body. An eerie silence descended, the sound of their breathing magnified. Who would blink first?_

_During their intense moment she marveled at the clarity of his blue eyes and their remarkable expressiveness. It became immediately obvious, not only was he an adventurer, he was also man of passion. This was definitely a man who knew what he wanted in life and a man who would do whatever it took to be successful. This was not what she had in mind when she stated she wanted to talk, but it was a start. Finally, she broke the standoff. _

"_Well…" she started slowly. "It's safe to say we firmly agree on this story-it will not be an uninteresting one."_

_A slight movement resembling a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth while his blue eyes he studied her. "I can agree to that," he boldly agreed._

_He was definitely not uninteresting, she mused. _Valentina's hand slipped inside a tan file thick with newspaper clippings, photographs and magazine stories that rested on the dresser by the door. Taking the first newspaper story, she gently folded it and placed it in her pants pocket, then resumed her watch through the crack in the door.

Mason glanced over his shoulder and listened before resuming his surreptitious survey of the album. Page after page of photographs- it became obvious the photos were destined for the _Geographic_. Majestic sand dunes, frenetic camel races, colorfully dressed Bedouin women weaving woolen blankets, children playing in the sand, herds of sheep and goat, - the camera had captured all aspects of the nomadic life on film. All the photographs were crisp, detailed and professional. With care and precision the time and descriptions were listed below each photograph and the issue of the _National Geographic _where the photographs appeared.

The following pages were markedly different; the photographs lacked the professional quality. Why the change in quality? Because the eye behind the camera had changed and the focus of the camera had shifted. These were photographs that would never grace the pages of the_ National Geographic_. The camera angles were playful and the center of attention became obvious. Mason's perusal slowed and the lawyer pulled a pen and notepad from his breast pocket and methodically began to write down _all _the _National Geographic_ issues of _all_ the photo albums on the ledge beneath the window.

The poses and shots were amateurish and silly. The center of attention in each photograph-Valentina Bernini. An entire series of photographs chronicled Valentina in various stages of mounting, riding and falling off a cranky camel, and the pursuit of the camera lens playfully sticking her tongue out as the lens zoomed in capturing close-ups of the offending raspberry. Mason smiled and thought of the light-hearted moments in his own life. Finding the pages highly addictive he continued his search and found the photographs becoming more private. Mason shifted his feet, growing uncomfortable with his voyeurism as the eye behind the camera lens descended into a realm of greater intimacy.

Caught by surprise, a startled face looked into the lens from a translucent sea of blue; a languid pool fringed with meager vegetation and powdery sand-an oasis. The water's surface only slightly distorted the shapely body of the nude swimmer. Mason stopped, and checked to make sure he was alone.

The next photo- the interior of a Bedouin tent, low slung, carpeted, and filled with golden light. In a nest of pillows Valentina lay prone with her hands cradling her face. Hair tousled and eyes heavy from sleep or lovemaking she looked into the camera. The photographer boldly snapped photo after photo capturing the artist's dusky smile and the golden light playing lustrously over the smooth skin of her bare shoulders, back and hips as she lay amidst the pillows. Mason realized he was not just looking through the eyes of the photographer; he was looking through the eyes of her lover. At the bottom of the photo in an elegant script was written- "_Musen_". Mason removed his pen and notebook and copied the inscription. _Musen_? he mused, thinking of his time in Europe, Danish, perhaps. _Musen_?

The sound of the door closing caused the lawyer to release the cover of the album, and slip his hands back into his pocket. Casually turning, he found Valentina moving through the kitchen pulling out eating utensils and napkins.

"You know this is really quite a pleasant surprise, Your Honor," she said taking down a pair of wine glasses from the cabinet.

Mason nodded and began to unzip the insulated bag containing Gilberto's famous Chilean Sea Bass.

"It's the least I could do for the painting that arrived in my chambers."

The painting displayed on his chamber wall was quite expensive and the token invoice made the painting a purchase rather than a gift. Pulling an envelope from his pocket he added. "And with your invoice I've included my ten dollar check, payment in full. You could go broke charging those prices," he chided good-naturedly.

Valentina skillfully popped the cork from a chilled bottle of wine. "I'd rather go broke, Your Honor, than be responsible for an investigation into your ethics."

Mason nodded in agreement and removed the covered dishes from the insulated carrier. "I remember when Gilberto first came to the United States and worked as a sous chef in L.A. I always knew he had potential and now look at him; he owns one of the top rated restaurants in the city."

It was obvious the jurist was a special customer once the plate covers were removed. The Chilean Sea Bass and grilled spring vegetables were served on the restaurant's fine china with a full silver service. In just a few minutes the table had been elegantly set, the view of the San Francisco skyline spreading out before them. Valentina pouring the wine, hesitated, and looked up at the seated jurist, waiting for his permission to fill his wine glass. Mason nodded, and ignored the protest of his inner voice and rationalized it was only one glass.

Placing the napkin across her lap, Valentina looked up and surveyed her companion seated quietly across from her, who watched and waited for her to sample the entrée. Gracefully she maneuvered her fork along the edge of the grilled fillet, removed a flake and brought it to her lips for a taste. The artist's eyes lowered, savoring the rich full flavor. "Umm," she declared as she opened her eyes. Gesturing with the tip of her fork she added, "Do I detect a hint of Bourbon?"

It was the lawyer's turn to lower his eyes and smile mischievously. "Gilberto uses a special Bourbon marinade."

Bringing the napkin to touch her lips she shook her head. "Oh, you are so bad, Your Honor."

Mason's eyes narrowed, appreciating her keen feminine intuition and how it was hidden beneath such a captivating facade. The beautiful and easy going veneer was a mask for a cunning and calculating mind capable of reading the slightest and most minute detail and nuances.

"Yes, I'm bad, bad, bad," he agreed. "So you like it?"

Another flake reaches her lips and she purred. "It's delightfully decadent, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Mason's eyes darted to the easel in the far corner near the panoramic window. The easel held his soon to be completed portrait. A feeling of dread spread through him at the thought of its completion and the termination of his visits. Glancing back at his companion he finds she's studying him while aimlessly nudging the food around on her plate with her fork.

"Please give Gilberto my best," she said softly.

Mason nodded and for the first time notices above her shoulder a framed photo on a shelf near the kitchen cabinets. Funny, he didn't recall seeing it there earlier, a horse and rider galloping across what seems to be an endless rolling plain of golden grasses haloed by an azure sky. Looking down, taking another bite of his meal, he manages to steal another look.

"Your Honor," she began. The jurist turned his attention to her.

"Have you always wanted to be a judge?" she asked. And for a moment Mason found himself speechless as he stared at the framed photo.

_The golden grasses swayed majestically with the wind, only the sound of screeching and clattering through the open window hinted of tragedy. The dozer had arrived early at the request of his father. Nasty business he heard his father say on the phone to the dozer operator. Eyes rimmed in red he stood stoically in the den by his father's desk and watched the older man write a check, a check for services rendered. Tall, athletic, dark wavy hair and eyes, sporting a thin Clark Gable moustache, his father, always the businessman, shook his head and repeated again. 'Nasty business, yes, nasty business.'_

_The young man fought back tears and stared out the open window recalling the thunder and lightning that had danced across the sky in the early morning hours. Numbly, he turned his attention to his father's den, the hunting rifles in the solid oaks cabinet, the fly fishing rods hanging across the mantle, the floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with books and near the fireplace a chess set, a game in progress, was placed on small table for two. He was being trained, he would be his father's son. Yet he managed to break away from that training for a moment in the kitchen when he allowed his mother's arms to circle his waist as he shed tears on her shoulder. _

'_Perry,' his father's stern voice forced him to meet the older man's eyes. "Now don't go soft on me, son.' Looking at the young man's red rimmed eyes, he shoke his head and added, 'I suppose that's your mother influence.'_

_Yes, it was his mother's influence. Looking away, he remembered the phonograph playing, their arms intertwined as his mother gave him dance lessons. One, two, three, they moved awkwardly around the upstairs bedroom, practicing and laughing as they worked to perfect the Cha Cha, Foxtrot, Paso Doble, Quickstep, Rumba, Samba, Waltz and their favorite—the Tango. A gentlemen needs to know all the dances his mother insisted. 'And you are a gentleman, Perry', she said softly straightening the collar on his shirt. 'You'll be the kind of gentleman any woman would find irresistible'._

_The young Mason felt the muscles of his jaw tighten at his father's comment._

'_But these things happen, son. Life is precious and fleeting and it all can be snuffed out in seconds. A man needs to live each day to the fullness. To survive a man has to be tough, a fighter. And for those weaker than you, well, you must fight for them. There will be many moments like this and you can't give up, you have to keep moving, keep going. You'll be a fighter when I'm finished with you.' Leaning back in his chair the older Mason looked at his son and marveled at how his body was changing, taking on the build of a prize fighter. The elder Mason leaned forward and removed the check from the book and studied it._

'_Perry, you have what it takes to be whatever you want, but you'll find the best place for a fighter is the courtroom. You have what it takes to be a helluva lawyer.' The elder Mason paused and placed his index finger at his temple, then lowered to point to his heart. 'You have the brains and the heart to know what is right. Someday….. yes, someday I hope you'll be a judge, not any judge…..but a judge on the highest court in the state, the California Supreme Court.' _

_The screeching and clattering became louder as the dozer's engine groaned to perform its duty just over the crest of the hill. The younger Mason's eyes grew moist at the thought of his kindred spirit disappearing beneath the soil. Suddenly the check was handed to him and reluctantly he took it between his fingers and held it. _

_The elder Mason leaned back in his chair and studied his son. 'Perry, I want you to give Frank the check for his services.'_

_The check in his hand suddenly seemed heavy, heavy with Max's spirit. Once the check left along with the dozer, the golden grasses would cover the disturbed soil and Max would be gone forever. Numbly he turned to carry out his mission and was stopped by his father's voice, holding the door he turned to face the man who gave him life. _

_His father now stood by the window, head lowered, his back to him. His voice was revealing. 'And Perry…..why don't you prepare a few words…..I think it would be only fitting.'_

The artist remained silent and patient, the fork gracefully held between her fingertips waiting for the jurist to speak. He didn't know how long she had waited or how long he had been staring at the framed photo of the galloping horse.

"_Have you always wanted to be a judge?" _she had asked.

"No," he finally answered.

Valentina received his answer with cool detachment and immediately he found her response intriguing encouraging the jurist to counter with his own question.

"And have you always wanted to be a portrait photographer?" he asked.

The artist remained silent, an eyebrow arched up slightly while the fork remained poised as she thought.

_""Look at Val's photos!" the young boy shouted as he pushed the photographs across the counter toward his parents. "I found these in her room."_

_ Both parents moved closer and the more they saw the more excited they became. Their fingers frantically moved and fanned out the four by six photographs until all the photos were arranged on the countertop. _

_ "Oh my God, Anthony, what has she been doing?"_

_ "I don't know, Angie, but we've got to get to the bottom of this!" her father said, before yelling. "Valentina! Valentina come here right now!"_

_ Racing in from the other room, the sixteen year old photographer stopped and looked on in horror. "What are you all doing with my pictures?"_

_ Turning to her grinning brother, she balled up her fist and slugged him. "You little rat bastard, you've been in my room again."_

_ Grabbing his arm in pain, he yelled back, "Well, thanks a lot, Val. Somebody had to tell before you killed yourself."_

_ "So this is really you?" her parents asked in unison._

_ Stepping to the counter, she slowly turned and looked with pride at the photographs she had taken as she dropped ten thousand feet. "Yeah, that's me."_

_ "Oh, my God, Anthony, she really did jump out of a plane!" her mother gasped and clung to the edge of the kitchen counter for support._

Valentina serenely smiled and toyed with her fork before answering. "No."

The two dinner companions looked across the table at each other with faint all-knowing smiles, tasting and moving their food around on their plates as they both contemplated their responses. Valentina took the time to refill their wine glasses, then brought her glass to her lips, and used the time to study the man across from her.

Satisfied, she lowered her glass, touched the tip of her napkin to her lips and stated. "I understand you had a very interesting legal practice in southern California. Some might say you were a _celebrity_. _I've heard enough of a celebrity to sign autographs like they do in Hollywood_."

Mason's face remained poker hard as he felt a tightening in his chest and lowered his silverware and leaned back from his plate. The muscles in his jaw flexed as his eyes took on a steely resolve.

"_Celebrity lawyer, signing autographs_," he repeated in an eerily soft voice. Suddenly his hands were on the table as he leaned forward, the intensity building inside his broad chest, only the gentle rhythmic tapping of his fingertips on the table seemed to safely release his building energy.

In a stentorian courtroom voice, Mason stated, "My legal practice specialized in murder and I can assure you, Ms. Bernini, a client facing the gas chamber would not find comfort having some _light-weight Hollywood celebrity lawyer_ representing him or her in court. This isn't some Hollywood plot; we're dealing with the reality of life and death-life in prison or death in the gas chamber." Mason paused. What he saw was not a look of consternation at his response, or the indignation required for an argument, he found only a face filled with calm and a trace of amusement playing around her eyes and lips. Mason leaned back in his chair and smiled. "But then you knew all of that didn't you?"

Coyly she brought the wine to her lips and appraised him over the rim as she sipped.

Amused, Mason chuckled.

Lowering her glass, her eyelashes fluttered as she raised her eyes to his before smiling. "But I do love a man of passion. It certainly makes life more _interesting_."

"_Interesting_," the lawyer repeated softly.

"Yes, _interesting_," she agreed.

A thoughtful silence fell between them. The lights of the city skyline winked in the distance and filled the panoramic windows. Indirect lighting illuminated the easel in the far corner and Mason's eyes were drawn to it once more. Valentina followed his gaze.

"The portrait will be finished soon…."Mason began.

"And then….." she said.

"Then this will be over," he replied.

"Do you want this to be over?" she asked staring thoughtfully at the easel.

"Do you?" the lawyer countered.

"You said at the beginning this was more than a portrait. Do you still feel that it's true?"

Mason's brow arched up thoughtfully, then elicited a sly smile. "I think you know the answer to that question."

Valentina's dark eyes left the easel and turned to meet the lawyer's. "I could prepare dinner the next time; that is if you have the time."

"And I'll bring the wine and…." The lawyer smiled, his voice trailing off, sensing the time was right, reached down to the binder by his chair and removed the _National Geographic_ and unfolded it on the table.

Valentina looked down at the raging bull and grim faced matador. Mason's attempt to read the expression on her face drew a blank, only a subtle fluttering of lashes revealed any response.

"And if you have the time…" the artist's voice trailed off as her hand slipped in her pocket, removed the newspaper story and smoothed it out on the table.

Mason stared down at the title, '_Mason summoned before the Grand Jury'_. Accompanying the story was a stock photo taken outside the courtroom of a young and dark haired Perry Mason. Valentina's attentive eyes studied the lawyer's face and watched the blossoming of an amused smile.

The magazine and newspaper story were placed side-by-side. Their eyes meet and the artist's smile joined the lawyer's.

"Well," Mason began. "This should be _interesting_."

~~~tbc~~~


	2. Chapter 2

_**"Quid pro quo"**_

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Friday morning**_

In the book-filled storage room the two librarians stood and stretched and admired their handiwork. The head librarian had taken the list and managed to locate them all. The two women then spent the rest of the morning packing boxes of _National Geographic _magazines.

"I'm puzzled by all of this," the assistant said looking around at the boxes.

The head librarian carefully smoothed down the tape seam with her slender fingers and thought of her morning visitor-the handsome man with the penetrating blue eyes.

"Polly," she began, "it's not our job to ask questions. I'm sure the justice has his reasons and besides….." Snapping the tape from the dispenser, she continued. "He's made a very generous donation to our children's reading section. We need the money and you know we'd make a mere pittance selling these issues at our library thrift store."

The assistant nodded and seemed satisfied with the response as she left to summon the library courier for a delivery to the judge's apartment building.  
Meanwhile the head librarian stared down at the list with a gnawing sense of curiosity and remembered the monstrous anaconda lunging from the front cover of one of the magazines. _What could be the appeal of all this? Borneo, headhunters, Egypt, anacondas…..and this photographer? _The librarian's eyes widened as her imagination ran wild_. _

**_~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~_**

Leslie Mark's eyes fluttered in disbelief while her mouth slowly dropped open in awe. She couldn't believe what she was seeing and hearing. While running the clocks she had a full view of both the bench and the lecterns. Up to this point the appeal had been proceeding normally, like ships steaming along, steady, predictable, routine. Then the atmosphere changed in a subtle way, slowly at first, like a minor navigational miscalculation on a vessel might go unnoticed until time had progressed and the ship's wandering became more and more dramatic. The attorneys at their lecterns slowly turned to each other with raised brows. Even the clerks at various positions around the courtroom began to look at each other to see if others were hearing and seeing the same thing. All the players had noticed something going on with the three distinguished jurist who sat before them.

The pointed looks, the whispered voices, the paper being passed back and forth at first casually, then forcefully made it obvious legal fireworks were brewing on the bench. The wandering ship, now so far off course, has scraped its hull along a coral atoll creating a gash from bow to stern with water rushing in. Alarm bells sound on the distressed ship.

Chief Justice Erskine Burrows had been presiding imperiously over the court from his position in the center, while his wing man, Associate Justice Jameson Clark, sat comfortably to his right. The least senior jurist and odd man out, Associate Justice Perry Mason, was seated to the Chief's left. Mason's fiery sidelong glances and sternly whispered discussion to the Chief Justice was becoming like the ship's gapping hull, hard to ignore. Around the courtroom heads leaned together, whispered discussions grew louder as it became evident the Chief Justice was marginalizing a member of his own court. Anxious eyes looked around sensing the growing tension on the verge of explosion.

Burrows, head held high, eyes sweeping the floor, had successfully managed to speak over and ignore the comments brought forth by Justice Mason. Justice Clark was only too eager to chime in, drowning out Mason with his support of whatever merits the Chief Justice had brought forward. The commentary created the illusion Mason was not even a presence on the bench. Burrows smiled down at the two puzzled attorneys who stood in awe at what they were witnessing and wondered how their appeal would play out.

Abruptly Burrows paused and a strange hush settled over the proceedings. In the eerie silence Leslie imagined she heard the sound of a hissing fuse and jumped at the loud pop of Burrow's chair as he abruptly stood. The Chief quickly announced the court would make its decision and with the swiftness of a lightning strike all three justices bolted from their seats causing their leather chairs to twirl, and their black robes to billow as they departed like a shot for their conference room.

Immediately sound filled the courtroom and the two opposing attorneys quickly stepped from their lecterns to discuss what they had just witnessed. Law clerks positioned around the courtroom moved toward the conference room in anticipation of what scene might be occurring in the back hallway. Leslie managed to enter the hallway first and was hit by a booming wave of angry voices and managed a fleeting glimpse of swirling black robes pouring through the conference room door as it vigorously slammed shut. From the opposite end of the corridor two concerned bailiffs hurriedly pursued the cacophony. Leisurely the other clerks filed in behind her. The bailiffs looked at each other and decided they would positioned themselves outside the door poised and ready to enter in the event they detected the sounds of scuffling or furniture being overturned.

Leslie nervously twisted the ring on her finger and felt helpless as she stood outside listening to the booming voices. From the corner of her eye she watched the behavior of the other clerks. Janice Thiery, Burrow's clerk, leaned provocatively against the wall with a haughty air of schadenfreude. _What a perfect pair, Burrows and Thiery_, she thought. _I wonder how she's made it this far? _Leslie rolled her eyes with annoyance, she knew the answer.

Mason's baritone voice carried above Burrows and Clark, but no words could be recognized. Anxiously the group listened and waited. Not wanting to make eye contact, Leslie managed sidelong glances at Clark's clerk, Harrison Sandover, III. _Harrison Sandover the third. What a load of crap! I bet Sandover I and II are a joy as well! _Leslie thought. Harrison Sandover the third had impressed her right away with his aloof and arrogant attitude. Clark's clerk leaned against the wall with a bored and smug expression.

Leslie felt anger growing toward the other clerks. There was no concern of what could be happening behind those closed doors or how the events they had just witnessed had marred the perceived dignity of the court. It was as though they were gaining some kind of vicarious thrill out of what was happening and she being Mason's clerk was included. The bailiffs waited casually and seemed accustomed to heated discussion behind conference doors. Occasionally the men would cast an observant eye toward the law clerks. In disputes over legal doctrine the seasoned officers knew it was not unusual for disputes to spill over to clerks when it came to philosophy or the loyalty to a jurist.

Heaving a weary sigh, Harrison rolled his eyes and commented dryly. "You know this wouldn't be happening if Mason would just realize he's not a defense attorney anymore. He can't pull his theatrical spiel in this court." In the same condescending tone, Harrison added as he looked directly at Leslie Marks. "He should know by now his days of being the ringmaster of his three ring circus are over."

Fits balled, Leslie stepped forward and the two bailiffs quickly turned their attention to Mason's clerk. At that moment a loud bang from inside the conference room made them all jump and the bailiffs turned to the door. Suddenly the door was flung open and out strutted the Chief Justice. The bailiffs stepped back and nodded in acknowledgement at the jurist. Turning toward the clerks lining the hallway, Burrows smiled, chin held high, shoulders squared, a thick coat of hairspray holding every hair in place, only the jurist's cheeks were flushed from their heated verbal thunderstorm. Confidently following behind the jurist, Associate Justice Jameson Clark glanced at the clerks and bailiffs and nodded. The bailiffs breathed a sigh of relief watching the justices emerged from the conference room unscathed. Janice Thiery and Harrison Sandover, III fell in place behind their mentors, and paused long enough to flash sympathetic looks at Leslie Marks.

The bailiffs turned their attention once more to the conference room. Suddenly Perry Mason's presence filled the doorway with sparkling eyes and the aura of physical energy. Glancing back and forth between the departing jurists and the energized pugilist who stood in the doorway, the bailiffs released sighs of relief at not having to break-up what could have been a nasty brawl. Leslie's eyes widen, amazed at her mentor's transformation. She found his formidable presence both frightening and exciting and fought the temptation to reach out and touch him. The sound of his voice played softly in her ears. '_I wish I could tell you things get easier, you only get tougher_.'

Reluctantly she allowed the moment to pass and observed Mason nodding and shaking the hands of the bailiffs, thanking them for their due diligence. While the bailiffs walked away Mason turned to his clerk.

Like the sun breaking through storm clouds, Mason released a faint smile and shrugged his broad shoulders. "Well, Ms. Marks, we have a busy afternoon ahead of us. You and I will be writing _our _dissent."

_Yeah, you only get tougher_, she thought looking up at her mentor's face.  
Mason stepped into the hallway and Leslie fell in step at his side. "Yes, Your Honor!" she replied, ready to follow his lead.

"And_ our_ dissent," he said looking down at his clerk, and added pointedly, "_will be read from the bench_." Leslie understood the significance of the act- _ a dissent read from the bench_.

Mason smiled and watched his clerk's face brighten, her head nodding in agreement.

Falling into step with Mason, Leslie stated with enthusiasm, "_As you said, we only get tougher_!"

Mason looked down at his clerk and chuckled at her bravado.

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

**Meanwhile in the chambers of the Chief Justice...**

Leaning against the closed door of his chambers, Erskine Burrows felt weak and hurried to his leather chair before his legs would collapse. Suddenly he felt ten years old again, running like mad, the hot breath of the German shepherd on his legs, with fear and elation coursing through his veins. Reaching the safety of his home he had bolted over his fence and collapsed in a crying exhausted heap as the frustrated canine snarled and barked through the chain links. He had dared tease the animal in a childish test of bravery with the plan he could show-off for his friends, the same friends who constantly teased him about his diminutive size. Fortunately, he had been alone on the day he teased the canine, but today it had been different.

From his position on the bench and before a filled courtroom, he had strayed from a professional disagreement over point of law to an all-out personal attack-an attack aimed at diminishing, marginalizing and ultimately disrespecting a fellow member of his court. Like the teasing of the German shepherd, he had hoped to provoke a public response from Mason. He hoped the court would see an out-of-control jurist, but instead Mason had flashed him increasingly angry looks and heated notes indicating his forceful opinions of what the Chief Justice was doing. But to his disappointment, Mason had remained the consummate professional until the doors of the conference room slammed shut.

Burrows felt a shiver, turned his chair to the side and opened the bottom drawer of his desk and looked inside. At the age of ten he knew who he was trying to impress. Reaching into the back of the desk drawer, he paused with his hand on a Sterling silver Victorian hip flask filled with vodka. Now who was he trying to impress? A decorative box containing the engraved flask had been pressed into his hand as a silky voice explained the significance of their new relationship, '_Here's a little reminder of our association, you know, when times get tough.' _ _Yeah, when times get tough_, Burrows thought and released a nervous chuckle. Times are definitely tough, now he had 'people' to impress, 'people' who had expectations, very high expectations. Casting a nervous glance at the door he quickly opened the flask and downed half its contents. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, Burrows considered downing the rest, but changed his mind.

Only he knew how much he feared Mason and the way he constantly maneuvered in the conference room to maintain a safe distance from the inflamed jurist who pursued him like a fighter in a ring. A weak smile appeared on the Chief Justice's lips as he thought. Yes, only he knew because he was the master of illusion, his arrogant veneer hiding the grown version of that cowering and crying ten year old boy. Janice Thiery was there, watching, listening, and seeing him in charge.

Returning the flask to its hiding place, he closed the drawer and remembered a file containing a very special publishing project he had been purposefully neglecting. His neglect was due to his inability to tackle its legal complexity. He would offer it to Janice as a gift. It was a chance to write and publish, something his clerk had done as editor of the _Law Review_. He knew the ambitious Janice would find it difficult to resist. By the acceptance of this honor she would feel anxious to return his favor. The shiver was replaced by a tingle as Burrows thought of how this favor might be repaid. With his wife away, he had all week.

**Meanwhile a plane cruised above the Sierra Nevada Mountains…**

Peggy Lisbon Burrows looked out the cabin window from her seat in first class. She never tired of studying the landscape from such a vantage point. Most passengers in first class had pulled the blinds, put on headphones or were reading their paper and were totally indifferent to what features passed below. Clinging to a habit she had developed as a young girl, Peggy still enjoyed looking below at nature and humanity. In the distance Mt. Whitney peeked above the clouds forming a patchwork quilt over the Sierra Nevada Mountains as she began to daydream.

Her thoughts drifted to the times she had flown over this area with her parents. Her parents were now entering their retirement years. _ Retirement_, she thought and smiled at the notion of her father entering that phase of his life. For Renato Lisbon, business was his life. And her mother…..she enjoyed being the wife of a successful businessman and the mother to what was to be their only child-Peggy Anne. Leaning against the cool surface of the window, her fingers idly ran over the smooth leather of her briefcase as she realized she had spent most of her life trying to live up to their expectations and the burden of being an only child.

Renato Lisbon had hoped for a male heir to his business fortune while her mother, Natalie, wished for a beautiful girl to lavish with designer gowns and fashionable parties. Despite her parent's efforts to hide their disappointment, Peggy detected their duplicity. She was not beautiful by debutante standards, but on the other hand she was not ugly, she was, she felt as she looked in the mirror each day, simply a wholesome natural blonde, tall and willowy, with an engaging smile and sparkling blue eyes. What she lacked in dazzling beauty she more than compensated with charisma. Over time her father began to realize his willowy blonde daughter had an amazing mind for numbers and mathematical analysis. And to his amazement she had been quietly observing her father's business over the years and had startled him with her business acumen. Not only did his daughter have the personality to win over clients, she also exhibited a keen business savvy. Reluctantly her father acquiesced to her wishes and ignored the protests of her mother of how his actions would ruin their daughter's social life and her prospects of marriage. Peggy smiled and thought of her mother, the designer gowns and the fashionable parties.

Curled in the corner of the window box and hidden by the satin curtain, Peggy was lost in the world of a thick paperback, '_Gone with the Wind'_. Reading voraciously, and checking the thickness of the book, she could see with despair that her beloved story would soon be coming to an end. She was enthralled with all the characters, Melanie Hamilton, Scarlett O'Hara, Ashley Wilkes and of course, Rhett Butler. She felt as though she knew them personally. But it was Melanie, sweet, plain Melanie who seemed the most familiar. Why? She moistened her lips and enjoyed the cool window pane against her forehead. Because on the outside, she was Melanie, plain, sweet, wanting to please Melanie and yet another character called to her, a character that appealed to the inner Peggy. It was Scarlett. Even in business, a woman needs an inner Scarlett. And as Peggy matured and began to attend those fashionable parties, the inner Scarlett blossomed. And despite her demure Melanie appearance she was not searching for her Ashley Wilkes, no, she was searching for her Rhett Butler.

Leaning back in her seat, Peggy released a sigh, straightened her navy business suit and looked down at her hands crossed on her leather briefcase. Moving her hand allowed the diamonds to sparkle in the overhead light. Watching the facets play over the ceiling she enjoyed playing the scene over and over in her mind.

_The dinner party had been interesting enough, the usual society gossip, and a few useful business contacts were made until she saw him across the room. Without her heels, they could look eye to eye, and yet he carried himself with attitude, as though size didn't matter. Sipping her drink she carefully noticed the details of his smartly tailored dinner jacket and realized he would look good in anything or even better- nothing_.

_Then coolly he checked his watch, made his way to offer the host and hostess his best, then moved to leave. Placing her drink on a passing tray she too, offered her best to the host and hostess and hurried down the hall and nervously waited while the butler retrieved her fur coat. To her relief she stepped out in the hallway and found him just stepping into the elevator. With a gentlemanly smile, he pressed the button to hold the door and together they began their ride to the ground floor. Stepping to either side they took their positions. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she demurely thanked him for holding the elevator at which he nodded and smiled. Quietly they stood at the sides, stealing looks at each as the car swiftly dropped to the ground. She could feel his eyes moving over her, noting how her fur easily fell from her bare shoulders and the way the dark green satin dress she wore revealed her daring décolletage and the supple curve of her hips. _

_When his eyes were turned she gave him her full attention. She liked his boyish good looks, his tight muscular build and the unruly blonde hair he tried vainly to tame. The car eased to a halt and the doors opened_ _releasing its occupants to the grand lobby. She noticed, to avoid the height comparison, he walked at a distance so they would not be shoulder to shoulder. Passing by the doormen, they stepped out on the street. Casually he nodded an informal good night to her and waited. Along the front of the building drivers and limousines were waiting. Peggy spotted her limousine at the front of the line and watched her driver move around to open the door for her. As she walked to her car she heard his step not far behind. Greeting Phillip, her driver, she paused before slipping into the comforts of her car and watched the man with the boyish good looks walking down the street, his arm up to hail a cab. Stepping from the car, she boldly yelled. "Hey! Over here!"_

_His arm dropped as he turned and looked at her. _

"_Yeah, you!" she yelled to his surprise._

_Slowly he walked over to her and the waiting driver._

_Pulling the fur around her shoulders against the evening chill, she gave him a friendly smile._

"_I could drop you somewhere."_

_At first he frowned and began to protest, but then she saw his eyes moving in thought and he nodded his head in agreement. "Sure, that would be nice."_

_Phillip held the door as they slipped into the rear._

_Peggy took her seat and watched her visitor take the seat across from her. The door closed behind them and a soft interior light glowed above them. Phillip, behind a partition, called over the intercom. "Where would you like me to drive, Madam?"_

_She noticed his eyebrow arch at the driver's formal request as he quickly gave the address into the intercom._

"_Thank you, Phillip," she replied and released the button._

_For a few seconds they were silent, enjoying the other in the cool dim light of the interior._

"_Interesting party," he began._

"_I suppose," she replied then paused._

_Another moment of silence passed as they both shifted in their seats, she moving her shoulders, adjusting the fur and he crossing his legs._

"_But then I didn't meet you," she finished, an elegant Scarlett eyebrow arching mischievously upward._

_A sly smile slowly appeared on her companions face as his arm stretched out and rested on the back of his seat._

"_I stand corrected," he softly replied. "Please call me, Erskine."_

_Lowering her lashes, she replied, "Well, Erskine, I'm Peggy."_

_Leaning forward, Erskine extended his hand and knowing she would be flashing an ample amount of cleavage she leaned forward and took his hand._

"_It's a pleasure, Erskine," she replied, allowing him the opportunity to look and hold her hand longer than necessary._

"_Yes, it is," he spoke without really thinking, his eyes enjoying the view._

_Reclining in their seats, they were silent again, their body heat stimulating the scent of their perfume and cologne._

"_So what do you do, Erskine?"_

_Her companion shifted in his seat again, uncrossing his legs for comfort._

_Peggy watched his body language and smiled._

"_I'm an attorney," he answered and noting her lack of enthusiasm added, "But I'll soon be judge, an appointment to the California Court of Appeals." Seeing her smile, he breathed a sigh of relief and quickly asked in return. "And what do you do, Peggy?" And as a silly afterthought added, "Besides going to dinner parties?"_

_Peggy did not answer immediately, with a cool smile and knowing eyes she watched her blonde bad boy, her Rhett Butler._

"_Besides going to dinner parties, I make and invest money." Peggy always enjoyed the silence that followed. Slowly and provocatively she crossed her legs and watched his eyes follow her movements._

_Suddenly they felt the limousine slowing and pulling to the curb. A strange mix of desire and desperation flashed across her companion's face as he looked from her to the view through the tinted windows. And then his show of desperation was gone, the attitude, his air of confidence returned as his hand slipped inside his dinner jacket and retrieved a business card. Leaning forward, he extended the card. Again, she leaned toward him, giving her companion one last look at what could be his and took the card. And just when she had the illusion his lips had brushed against hers-his lips were gone. To her surprise he was preparing to leave, his hand clutched the door as he paused, and with an arrogance befitting Rhett Butler he faced her once more._

"_Thank you for the 'ride', Peggy. You've made it most enjoyable."_

_Glancing down at his business card, she released a coy smile and realized he too was playing her game. "Yes, Erskine Burrows, it has been a pleasure. Till we meet again," she replied as she slipped his card inside her purse. Phillips opened the door and her companion disappeared._

Peggy shifted, enjoying the tingle her daydream had created and turned her thoughts to her week in Boston.

~~~tbc~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**A special thanks goes out to my wonderful beta who wishes to remain exotic and mysterious.**

"**Quid pro quo"**

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Saturday Morning**_

_Perry Mason was oblivious to the rain pelting against his office window as he was laboring over a difficult partnership agreement. The lawyer released a weary sigh and pursed his lips with frustration as he read over a rough draft of the document. As a favor to a friend, he had agreed to assist the young brothers in setting up a business partnership. But it didn't take long before he realized the two strong-will siblings would require the patience of Job and the Wisdom of Solomon in precisely wording the document to anticipate any future conflicts between his ambitious clients. Leaning forward in his chair, staring at the last page, the lawyer's fingers drummed on his desktop._

_ "Damn," he muttered and reached for his pen to add a much needed clause to the last page. Carefully the lawyer began his notations and grew increasingly irritated as the ink grew faint leaving grooved letters on the paper. Turning, he aimed, and with a graceful arch, shot the useless instrument into the corner trash can-before he released a satisfied smile. _

_ If only the agreement were so easy, he mused and reached for the center drawer, and gave it a tug. The drawer wouldn't budge. Thinking a pen or piece of paper had halted the drawer's progress the lawyer pulled a little harder and placed his fingers inside and pressed down. The drawer opened revealing a glossy photograph, palm fronds, a spectacular sandy beach, billowy clouds, aquamarine water and in the distance, seeming to hover over the water's surface, a thatched tiki. Mason stared intently at the building's unique appearance and with closer inspection noticed the wooden supports disappearing below the water's surface. And to insure privacy-the only means of reaching the tiki, a small launch moored at the structure's private dock. _

_ Curiosity had quickly taken precedent over the pen. Greedy for more information, Mason pulled the thick brochure from the drawer and spread it out over the legal document._

_ Immediately the lawyer could imagine casting his line from the tiki's porch, or swimming from its private dock. Was it his imagination, or did the palm fronds appear to be moving with a breeze and he could feel its subtle caress. Mason's brow peaked and exuded a sly smile. With an air of suspicion he looked around his office and decided to check another drawer and instinctively reached for the drawer Della used, the one containing her pens and steno books. Just as he had anticipated, another travel brochure-a moonlit dance floor on the deck of a majestic liner. Elegant couples were dining and dancing by candlelight as the ship sliced through the shimmering tropical waters, the liner, the 'Star of the Orient'. Removing the literature, the lawyer couldn't resist opening another drawer to find yet another Oriental adventure._

_ Mason softly chuckled and sensed a presence in the doorway. Looking up from his new discovery, the lawyer found Della Street leaning with her usual seductive pose, hands and back pressed against the door frame, a pose usually signaling she had been up to some mischief or better yet-she had a mystery to share._

_ Enjoying her dusky look, Mason leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head with an air of satisfaction and delivered a come-hither look._

_ "You've been a busy girl."_

_ Running the tip of her tongue across her lips she oozed a naughty smile._

_ "You always said I was a handy girl to have around."_

_ Mason's gaze intensified as his eyes flowed over her. "You're a crafty one…. and a damn beautiful one too."_

_ An elegant brow arched at his compliment as she playfully shrugged. "So I've been told."_

_ The literature spread across his desk covered most of the Pacific and the Orient. Mason's eyes slowly narrowed in thought. "I bet you've already booked tickets."_

_ Easing away from the door frame, Della Street stepped forward with an easy grace, smoothing down the elegant lines of her navy suit as she walked. Nearing his desk, her eyes widened with mock innocence and replied. "No...but they are on hold."_

_ Mason leaned forward and studied the array of destinations. "Appointments, cases?"_

_ "Cleared till we return."_

_ Mason's brows knitted together with concern recalling the business agreement hidden beneath their tropical pleasures._

_ Bending over and placing the palms of her hands flat on the surface of his desk, Della eyed the unfinished document._

_ "All is clear except for our two petulant partners."_

_ Mason's lips pulled to the side with annoyance, thinking of what obstacles he had yet to clear and grimaced with pain._

_ Della's eyes frowned with concern as she moved around to take her place behind his chair. The lawyer rubbed his neck and turned his head as her strong fingers began to knead and massage his tired shoulders._

_ Frowning with disgust, he didn't understand why the pain would not go away. Della's talented fingers always managed to soothe any pain._

Mason groaned and pulled himself forward in his recliner. Confused, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked around at his surroundings, and recalled the night of pacing and fretful sleep. As morning sun sliced through the window of his apartment he was sadly reminded he was still in San Francisco.

_Yeah, still San Francisco. Why couldn't he be in the Pacific, in the privacy of that tiki, lying in her arms beneath the moonlight? Thoughts of travel had played heavily on his mind throughout the night. _And then he knew why-surrounding his chair were magazines opened to reveal beautiful photographs and amazing stories from around the world, stories from the pages of the _National Geographic_.

They were there when he returned to his apartment, boxes of magazines. He needed a distraction, a distraction from Burrows, the court, the dissention, from everything. The stacks of magazines provided a needed outlet, a fresh and exciting mystery to unravel. After all, next Thursday would soon arrive; he would need a counter to her counterpoint. _Quid pro quo_. He knew the photographer would be ready, she would slide some newspaper story or a revealing photograph across the table to him and the she would watch and wait. Or she would have a new framed photo within his field of vision then she would watch him like a fox. She would observe how many times his eyes would stray to the framed picture. Regardless, he would have on his courtroom face. He would be turning the tables as well; he would be watching her responses for any subtle ticks, a flutter of lashes, anything. He had to admit, she was good, very good. Mason found himself nodding. Yes, she would have something worthy, he was sure of it.

He needed something to counter her lead, something equally as interesting. Looking around his chair, taking in all the details of each story, he still had time to make his decision. Stretching, he massaged the cramp in his neck and felt the need to pace, to think- he needed to walk. The tropical scene on the wall was a reminder of an earlier productive excursion. Wandering the streets a small art gallery had caught his attention and in the front window, the painting with the enigmatic signature of a lock and key.

Pulling himself from his chair he lumbered into his bedroom while shrugging off clothes on his journey to the shower.

~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~

An hour later Mason stood in the cool morning air examining the paintings outside a small art gallery. He had hoped he might find more paintings with the lock and key signature. So far he had had no success. Casually dressed, hands thrust in his pocket, jingling his change he easily blended in with other window shoppers who were inspecting the gallery's selections. Looking through the paintings on the street the jurist decided to step inside. Mason smiled and nodded as a young couple passed him on their way out of the shop. The interior was cramped, framed artwork hung on the walls as well as stacked in wooden racks along the walls. Mason thumbed through frame after frame; casually looking, then hesitating, before coming to a complete stop, his fingers holding the frame out for further inspection. Across the painting were splashes of blue and white ocean spray that surrounded two large bull seals poised at the top of a rocky outcrop. As the giants lunged at each other with barred teeth, smaller seals surrounded them, mouths open, barking, their eyes wide with terror. Mason looked up and recalled Friday's courtroom confrontation.

_The battling duo, Mason thought. _The news from the heated proceedings had spread like wildfire through the courthouse. During their walk back to his chambers Mason could see the news spreading like wildfire, conversations ceased as they approached, the flashing of polite smiles as the jurist and his clerk passed and then when they were out of sight whispered conversations resumed as each person wanted to add their own bit of information to the story. As the door to Mason's inner chambers closed, and he and Leslie Marks pulled their chairs together at his work table, the door opened and Gloria Steiner moved to join them. The concerned look on his secretary's face revealed the courthouse grapevine had moved with warp speed. Mason, wanting to dispel any gloom, smiled as he rubbed his hands together and placed them flat on the table. "Well, ladies….let's get started, there's nothing I like better than a good fight!"

Again Mason glanced down at the giant mammals; teeth barred, necks scarred and bleeding, and thought that at least the two giants were brave enough to engage in battle unlike the publicly strutting Chief Justice. Once behind conference room doors Burrows deflated. Mason could see the man for what he was-an arrogant, pompous shyster who danced around the room, always careful to maintain a safe distance, and always checking to make sure his ally, Justice Jameson Clark, was close by. Mason had slammed his fist on the table and had taken two quick steps around the table just to watch the shyster jump and scurry away from him. The man was all show and no substance. Sitting in the back of the Town Car on his ride to his apartment Mason felt a building frustration-a frustration that Burrows had not been man enough to stand up to him. Adding insult to injury, Burrows had also denied him the delight of placing a well-placed blow to the Chief's jaw-a blow he guaranteed would have knocked the man out cold._ That thought and many others had contributed to his sleepless night._

Letting the frames fall back into place, Mason heaved a giant sigh, stepped away from the stack and walked along the length of the shop.

_Strange, he missed Hamilton Burger._ Over all the years and all the cases, he now looked back fondly at his times with Burger. It certainly didn't start out that way, at the beginning of their careers. But like everything else in life, they had mellowed, mellowed enough for the prosecutor to ask him to defend his friend on a charge of murder. "I couldn't think of anyone else, Perry. If I were charged with murder, I'd want you defending me. I'm asking this favor as a professional courtesy." Of course, he had agreed. And later they would enjoy each other's company for a week-end of pheasant hunting.

Pausing, head lowered, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, he reminisced.

"_Where's Della?" Clay asked, sliding the lawyer's favorite drink across the table. _

"_A prior obligation," Mason said and took a sip of the drink. Without looking at the menu, he ordered his usual._

"_Well, sometimes it's nice just to dine alone," Clay idly responded, leaning against the booth, eyeing the attorney speculatively before leaving with the order._

_Mason chuckled, thinking of just how many times Clay had probably dined alone. Slipping the napkin from the table, the lawyer gently wiped his lips and noticed Burger walking in. Only hours before they had concluded a very interesting trial, even the reporters were shaking their heads as they rushed to file their stories. Burger nodded, seeing the lawyer in his usual booth, and decided to stop by._

"_Perry."_

"_Hamilton."_

_The two men nodded their greetings as the prosecutor noticed the lawyer was seated alone._

"_No celebration?" Burger asked._

"_No, Hamilton, just a quiet evening at Clay's. Meeting someone?" Mason asked, noticing the prosecutor didn't seem to be searching for anyone in particular among those present in the restaurant._

"_No," Burger replied simply._

_With an elegant turn of his hand the lawyer gestured to the seat across from him. "Care to join me?"_

_The prosecutor hesitated, thinking it over, then smiled. "Sure, Perry, I'd be glad to."_

_Mason motioned for a server and in a few moments Burger was enjoying his drink._

"_You know, Perry, we've been doing this a long time. How long's it been?"_

"_Too long, Hamilton, but then who's counting," Mason agreed before leaning back in the booth, looking over the prosecutor. Time and the weight of an ever increasing caseload had taken its toll on his capable adversary, the man had aged. But to be honest, they both had. Still, Burger attacked his duties as an officer of the court with a persistent seriousness of purpose. No one could say Burger did not give his full effort in finding justice for the victims of crime as well as seeking to punish their perpetrators. No matter their differences, they both had the same goal-they both wanted justice to be served. Unlike, Erskine Burrows, Hamilton Burger was no shyster._

"_You know I was sure I had your client dead to rights, Perry."_

_Mason nodded and smiled._

_Burger stared off for a moment and rubbed his jaw in thought. "So how did you know Franklin Cummings was really Hanley Gillette? The plastic surgery totally changed the man, even his fingerprints."_

_The lawyer took a sip of his drink, then stared off for a moment before gently running the tips of his fingers along the angle of his jaw as he recalled the facts._

"_You know, of all the variables in this case, there was one thing that kept bugging me. It was the Akita. All the neighbors stated the Akita was an excellent guard dog, and would bark at any stranger, but yet on the night of the murder, the dog was silent, no one heard a thing. Now why on the night of the murder would the Akita not sound the alarm?"_

_Burger's eyes watched, carefully following the lawyer's train of thought. _

"_And then it dawned on me, the Akita was quiet because the animal recognized his previous owner, it had to be Hanley Gillette, or as we know him, Franklin Cummings."_

_Shaking his head, lips pursed, Burger muttered, "Well, I'll be damned. That certainly makes sense. Dogs are like that. Humph." A moment of silence followed before finally the prosecutor lifted his glass toward Mason. "Well, counselor, here's to justice."_

_Mason nodded and raised his glass to touch Burger's. "To justice."_

_Yeah, justice,_ Mason thought. And unlike Erskine Burrows, Hamilton Burger was no shyster. The lawyer stood in front of a cluster of paintings as a young clerk walked by and stopped to ask if he needed assistance.

Politely, Mason declined and walked along, continuing his perusal of struggling artists when suddenly he stopped again. The painting on the wall, it was a copy to be sure, but the creator had put forth a noble effort in capturing the essence of Johannes Vermeer's the 'Girl with the Pearl Earring'. Mason's eyes studied the work, the precise colors, and the capturing of details- the sensuous glow on the young girl's parted lips and the pivotal highlight on the pearl earring. Leaning in, he stared at the highlighted orb and recalled the luster of other pearls.

_He hadn't even undressed and despite his whispered protest she pushed him on the bed, pulled up her skirt and straddled his legs. He wasn't in the mood and yet he made no effort to stop her nimble fingers from massaging the tense muscles of his temples- forcing him to relax. _

"There….." she cooed in her husky voice, "There…there," _she whispered near his ear as her skilled fingers slipped his jacket from his shoulders._

_Tossing his jacket aside he continued his whispered protests. Still fighting the frustrations of what he had to do in court, he was oblivious to his tie slipping from his neck or the fingers loosening the buttons of his shirt._

"_Della!" he protested louder for her to hear, but strong hands pushed him back on the bed. Tired, his hands rose to rub across sleep deprived eyes. Lost in the turmoil of his own world he didn't hear the rustle of clothing, or feel the pressure of her body reclining on the bed next to his. Lowering his hand from his eyes, he blindly allowed it drop to her shoulder. Feeling the softness beneath his fingertips, he allowed his eyes to join his fingers as they slowly traveled across the curve of her bare shoulder. His protests stopped. The light from the lamp illuminated dark dusky eyes, glistening full lips and the highlights of the pearls she wore. Staring at the lustrous orbs he realized she wore nothing else._

"_Perry," she whispered, leaning closer, allowing her hands to slip beneath his open shirt pushing it to the side. "You did what you had to do," she said, as her lips trailed along his cheek and beneath his chin. "I understand," she said in a voice both soft and soothing. Feeling the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips on his chest, he closed his eyes and surrendered. _

_He had yearned for her touch and surrender last night. Tossing and turning, the sheets twisting around him like an evil force, he finally fought them off and began to pace. What was this fresh hell he lived in? It was a hell of his own doing. And now Della was happy and working without him. He should be happy; everything had worked out just as he had planned. He was after all, the master of manipulation, a man who could push all the right buttons to illicit confessions from murderers. _

"Sir, are you alright?" the young clerk asked with concern, looking at the pained expression covering her customer's face and immediately thought- heart attack.

Mason's eyes shot to meet the young woman's and immediately answered, "No, I'm not alright." And with those abrupt words the jurist turned and marched out onto the street with the clerk in pursuit.

"Sir, if you're not alright, I should call an ambulance," she called after him, window shoppers on the street looked up, watching the exchange. The clerk's shoulders slumped as she watched the broad-shouldered man with the long strides disappear out of sight. Shaking her head, she reluctantly stepped back in the shop.

~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~

After much walking and thinking, Mason suddenly found himself standing and staring through a plate glass window. Emblazoned in cursive white letters- the simple words, "EATS". Wafting through the open door was the aroma of bacon, sausage and the sweet smell of maple syrup. Behind the pane of glass, Mason watched a pair of massive arms, tattooed with anchors and mermaids flip and maneuver links of sausages and strips of bacon. Wearing a white apron, T-shirt, and a sailor's cap, the cook worked the griddle like a conductor works a symphony. Effortlessly he flipped two patties on a white porcelain plate, reached over head and with one massive hand cracked and released an egg on the steaming griddle. In between eggs he would turn and argue with a customer sitting at the counter.

The aroma and the vision transfixed the attorney and suddenly he was back in the ship's mess deck. Stepping through the open door, the interior reminded him of the diner he and Paul use to frequent in L.A. A long counter faced the griddle and kitchen, tables in the center and booths along the side. Slick melanin surfaces and vinyl and chrome chairs, a basket of napkins and condiments at each table, the lawyer felt right at home. Along the counter sat an assortment of blue collar workers dressed in their uniforms. Postal workers, bus drivers, cable car operators, cab and limousine drivers, doormen, all workers who plied their respective trades on a Saturday morning were lined up at the counter for breakfast and coffee, or at least a lively discussion with the cook who commanded the open grill. A small dark-haired woman scurried behind the counter, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried out to meet him. Obviously he was new, the other customers in the restaurant looked up when he walked in and seemed to turn to each other as though inquiring, 'Who's the new guy?'

"Geeze, Ernie, you don't know nothin about baseball!" the cook barked, jabbing the metal turner toward the man at the end of the counter for emphasis.

The other men at the counter let out an 'oooh' and turned and looked at the bus driver at the end who waved the sports page in the direction of the griddle. "Well, it says it right here, I don't make this stuff up, Frank! You should stick to frying eggs!"

The dark-haired waitress approached the lawyer. "Don't pay any attention to them, they do this all the time. Would you like a table or a booth?"

"AAGGHHH!" Frank loudly groaned with exasperation, through down his hand and turned his attention to the frying eggs. The bus driver got up, tossed down the money for his bill and shoved a tip under his plate and grabbed the newspaper. Before Mason could reply to the waitress the bus driver had offered him the newspaper. "Here you go, Mac, maybe you can talk some sense into that hard-head over there."

Mason took the offered paper and watched the bus driver turn to leave. The cook yelled at the departing driver, "So I'm a hard-head, eh? I heard that!"

"Yeah, you heard right! We'll finish this tomorrow, Frank," Ernie motioned with his hand to the cook as he stepped out on the street.

The lawyer suppressed an amused smile while studying the lay-out of the restaurant.

"I'd like that booth over there." Mason motioned to a booth that commanded a view of the street outside, the griddle and kitchen, counter and the front door. A perfect location for one of his favorite past times, the study of human nature.

Mason sat down and looked eye to eye with the petite waitress standing at his side.

"Would you care for some coffee?"

Mason nodded.

"The menus are on the table behind the mustard and ketchup bottles. I'll be right back with your coffee."

Mason folded the paper and placed it to the side. Immediately he smelled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee as the young woman placed the cup and saucer on the table and a small metal pitcher of cream.

"The sugars on the table… you know….. in that little basket over there." She gestured with a nod of her head. "I'll let you look over the menu, just let me know when you want to order."

"Of course, thank you."

Gingerly Mason checked the hot porcelain handle, then pushed the cup and saucer to the center of the table. The menu, placed in a plastic sleeve, rested between the wall and the yellow and red squeeze bottles. Mason eased the plastic sleeve from its resting place and accidently knocked over the ketchup. Picking up the full bottle, turning it in his fingers, he found he couldn't resist a smile.

_Paul Drake rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Man, am I starved!"_

_Perry Mason, dressed for court, sat across from the detective with an air of concern. "You know, Paul, I dreaded coming in here."_

_The detective had already scanned the menu and was ready to order. "What's wrong, Perry, this is a great place. We've got a great table here by the window with the view of the street. And I hear from the guys the food's good and they don't skimp on the portions."_

_The lawyer had placed his menu aside and was taking the opportunity to smooth out and straighten the tie clasp on his light blue necktie._

_Mason looked up with an air of mock surprise. "You really don't remember do you?"_

"_What?" Drake asked, confused._

"_The reason why we don't eat at Trixie's anymore."_

"_Ooh," Drake replied, his shoulders slumping slightly._

_Exasperated, Mason pursed his lips, his fingers still worked to adjust the tie clip. "It seems like we find a good place to eat and then you go and ruin it by dating not one, but all of the waitresses."_

_Drake started, "But, Perry, I can explain…"_

_The lawyer interrupted, "And then you don't call them, or they find out you've been going out with all of them, they start comparing notes….." Mason's voice trailed off and was followed by a weary sigh, "And then we can't show our faces in there again."_

_Paul, nervous, picked up the bottle of ketchup, moved it around in his hands. "Yeah, don't two-time the woman who handles your food, that's what I always say." Drake looked out at the sidewalk, watching people passing by. Rolling his eyes, the blonde Romeo added, "And it certainly doesn't take a detective to figure that one out." _

_Mason started to reach for his silverware when Drake called out, "Whoa, Perry, you gotta take a look at that!" The lawyer's head swiveled around to follow the detective's appreciative gaze as a shapely blonde seductively came into view and glided along the sidewalk in a form fitted dress that hugged every curve. Seeing the detective ogling her through the window, the blonde managed to catch the detective's eye, smiled then winked._

_ The lawyer marveled at their fleeting flirtation as his friend gave a breathless, "Wow!" _

_Only seconds elapsed before Drake spoke again. "Ah oh!"_

_ Confused at the change in tone, Mason turned his head to look across the table at the dumbfounded detective. Growing concerned, he followed Drake's wide-eyed gaze to the front of his own shirt, to the glob of ketchup that slowly made its way down the length of his light blue tie. _

Mason replaced the ketchup and stared across the booth. Releasing a bittersweet smile his eyes began to well. Funny, he remembered distinctly wearing Paul's gaudy geometric tie to court that day, a tie he swore was the ugliest tie ever made. Even now, he still finds the tie in his collection from time to time. Why would he keep the ugliest tie ever made? It didn't take a detective's logic to know the answer. He knew.

Vinyl seats squeaked and bodies shuffled causing the lawyer to give his attention to the lunch counter. The men who were earlier slumped over their plates suddenly perked up as though they had been infused with rarified air. What could cause their transformation and then he saw her-the other waitress who had been on break who now stood in the kitchen doorway. Every male eye was on her and Mason could understand the attraction. Honey blonde hair, full figured and a regal air, she had the physical appearance of Grace Kelly. She knew how to make an entrance and stood in the kitchen doorway as though waiting for her name to be called at the Queen's Gala along with the names of other royalty and dignitaries. Despite the aqua uniform of a waitress, the full figured blonde stood with an air of sophistication, even the simple task of putting on her white apron held the attention of every male in the room.

"Ah, Mae, we've been waiting for you," one of the men called out and was quickly joined by other male voices who eagerly agreed.

Mason propped his chin on his fist and watched with rapt attention as Mae stepped to the coffee machine and retrieved the steaming decanter. Her every movement was flowing, elegant and poised and then she spoke.

The sound was a slow, seductive, mellifluous Southern accent. "Oh, …boys…you…are…so…kind." Moving along the counter, she spoke with each one, each movement, precise and regal as though presiding over a high society tea.

_How did a woman like that, end up in a place like this? Mason pondered._

"Mae, Frank was picking on Ernie," the doorman announced. The cook paused and turned at the sound of his name. Mae finished refilling the last cup of coffee and with an elegant turn replaced the decanter on its stand.

"Oh, Frank!" she exclaimed placing both of her hands on the curves of her hips. The gesture drew every eye to her curves and the ample cleavage revealed by the straining top button of her uniform. "You've….got…to…be…nice….to …the customers."

The burly cook took on the appearance of a young boy being scolded by his mother and responded in a faux Southern vernacular. "Ah, Mae, honey, I didn't mean no harm."

Mae's eyes, the color of milk chocolate widened and snapped. "Don't …cross me… don't….be …like…Beau,….I'd…hate…for….you…to…..make…that…mistake."

"Oooooh," the men at the counter said in unison.

"You don't want to be like Mae's, Beau!" the taxi driver warned.

"Yeah," the limousine driver chimed in, "you might disappear in the bayou, never to be seen again."

The men at the counter were nudging each other, laughing and grinning, enjoying the playful drama at their neighborhood diner.

But Mason's eyes narrowed, he wasn't so sure this playful drama was all in fun. The lawyer began to suspect there was more truth than fiction in their little melodrama. It would certainly explain why a genteel Southern beauty would be waiting tables in San Francisco. Mae's Beau disappearing in the bayou, well, there was certainly more to that story. Perhaps it was taking a button and sewing a vest on it, but he did love a mystery and he had all the time in the world.

Frank left the grill, head lowered, carefully approaching the shapely blonde.

"I'll be nice to Ernie," he soothed, leaning into her, then quickly planting a kiss on her cheek. The guys laughed and watched Mae's sparkling eyes soften as the burly cook returned to his work, and she gracefully turned and removed the decanter and began her rounds.

Like a beautiful butterfly Mae fluttered from one table to the next. Moving through the tables Mason was able to notice more details about the waitress. Sipping his coffee, he watched, observed and wondered what other nuances Della might glean if she were able to observe the mysterious Mae. The lawyer took in the shapely but mature figure, the efforts to hold back the hands of time he found had been effective, Mae did not look what he estimated to be in her late forties.

Mason finished his coffee and felt her presence next to him. Taller than the other waitress, he looked up into her warm chocolate brown eyes and noticed the faint signs of wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Time had been good to Mae. Mason found her to be an extremely beautiful woman and yet the lawyer couldn't say life had been kind to her, her eyes told a different story.

He was a new customer and the waitress paused, the coffee carafe still poised in her hand as her sparkling eyes swept over the lawyer's face and continued to return to his blue eyes over and over again. Mason waited, would she ask if wanted more coffee. The silence between them was not uncomfortable and when she began her voice was soft and as seductively sweet as Tupelo honey.

"My…..your eyes,….they..do..tell..a story."

Mason's eyes softened as his brows knitted together. Her full mouth pulled into an easy smile, a dazzling smile.

The lawyer's mouth pulled to the side and asked incredulously, "Are you flirting with me?"

Her laugh was deep and sultry, then more playful. "Oh, my…..no…I..just have a way….a way of saying what I mean. Life's…just..way too short…to.. waste…on…flirtation."

Mason couldn't help but find her eerily enchanting. "I agree, life is too short," he said and watched her lower the carafe, indicating a refill.

The lawyer nodded, and Mae filled the cup and placed the container on the table and removed her order pad.

"I'm fine, the coffee's good," the lawyer said. "I'll wait before I order if you don't mind."

"I…don't…mind." She answered returning the pad to her an apron, but she didn't leave. Mason could feel her desire to talk, to learn more about her new customer and the lawyer obliged by providing an opening.

"This is a colorful place you have here."

"Oh, yes…everyone…knows..everyone…its really…quite…nice. So what do you do, Mr. Blue?" The name came out quickly, and immediately she placed her fingertips to her lips, and gave a little girl giggle.

"I'm…so…sorry…that…just…slipped out. I…have..a..way..of giving…customers…little…nicknames….it..helps…me remember. And besides….you..have…the…most…beautiful…blue…eyes."

The lawyer lowered his eyes and suppressed a smile at her compliment. "That's perfectly, alright, Mae. I may call you, Mae."

"Of..course…remember…life's …too…short…for…flirtation."

Again Mason nodded and they both softly laughed.

"You…didn't…answer….my..question…Mr. Blue?"

Mason toyed with the handle of his coffee cup and contemplated what anwer he should give her. "I study people," he answered simply.

"Well, isn't..that…interesting…so…do… I. I…guess…we'll…have…a lot…to talk…about…won't…we….Mr. Blue."

The men at the counter were craning their necks, stealing glances at Mae and the new customer who seemed to be occupying way too much of her time. Their eyes became like darts, piercing the lawyer with tinges of jealousy.

"Tell me, Mae, I do have a question about human behavior. Perhaps you could assist me."

Mae looked around, checking for customers who might need her services.

"Why….of….course….I'd….be…most…happy…to help."

"What if an attractive woman doesn't really flirt with a man, even though there could be a physical attraction? But what if she's not interested in flirting, what if she's only trying to get inside his head."

"My… what…an…interesting…question, Mr. Blue. I think..you..must…have..something…she…wants…something…she needs."

Mason listened and waited intently.

"I think…..she needs…..answers. And you….Mr. Blue….have….the….answers….she's..looking…for."

Brows furrowed, Mason became thoughtful. "Thank you, Mae, you've been very helpful."

Picking up the carafe, Mae smiled with satisfaction. "I'm…so…glad….I …could…be… of assistance."

"Mae!" the taxi driver called, feeling the new customer had taken enough of her time.

"Coming, Bennie." Turning, she gently touched Mason's arm and returned to the counter.

_You have something she needs; you have the answers she's looking for. The lock and key. _Mason sipped his coffee, eyes narrowed in thought, he watched Frank crack eggs and Mae hold court and decided, 'Eats' would definitely require a return visit.

~~~tbc~~~


	4. Chapter 4

"**Quid pro quo"**

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Wednesday**_

Beneath an island of light, Perry Mason looked up from his notes, leaned back in his chair, and took time to admire the sea of twinkling lights from his apartment's expansive window. He allowed his mind to wander as he followed the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge as they spanned the bay to Sausalito and from there the location of the lights forming the bank of windows of 15 Madrona Avenue.

_What was she doing now? Painting? Photography? Or perhaps her own homework? Was she finding __his__ life as interesting as he was finding hers? The thought was intriguing._

Looking away from the window, the lawyer smiled, and admired his own homework- rows and rows of open _National Geographic_ magazines neatly arranged in chronological order on every available surface in the apartment. Cleaning was useless and a quick call to the service guaranteed his efforts would remain undisturbed.

Hours earlier he had arrived from the courthouse and had casually tossed his briefcase, jacket and tie on the bed, opened a bottle of wine, loosened his shirt collar, rolled up his sleeves and sat down to resume his work. Bringing the glass of wine to his lips, he paused, savored the wine's exquisite bouquet, and felt the stirrings of desire-a desire for a cigarette. It would be easy to send out for a pack, no, the wine was enough. For the moment he would settle for this-a small taste of his old life. He had a mystery to solve and the wine would do for now.

Lowering the glass, Mason slipped on his reading glasses, studied his notes and picked up the edition with the bull and matador, the magazine his fellow jurist had been reading and, as irony would have it, the edition that started it all-the artistic pairing of photographer, Valentina Bernini and the writer, Tomas Bardem. Mason glanced around the room at the row upon row of magazines, each open to stunning photographs and dramatic stories from around the world. Spread around his apartment he had a compilation of a lifetime-_a lifetime of __their__ work_.

_A lifetime of work-and then abruptly it ended. _ Mason rested his chin on his clasped hands and felt his own sense of déjà vu. He understood only too well the effort and collaboration needed for such an undertaking as a _National Geographic_ story. Likewise, he had evidence of his own such collaborations- file cabinets packed with high profile murder cases, each with their own photos and documentation-_a lifetime of their work_-he and Della's. Yes, _a lifetime of their work. _He remembered the beginning as though it were yesterday. Strange, how some special moments remained frozen in time and so easy to relive. Mason looked off and smiled.

_The houselights brightened as the brass and drums of the orchestra subsided and dancers left the floor and returned to their tables. Seated, Paul Drake watched appreciatively as the two shapely young women made their way to the powder room. Meanwhile, Perry Mason flipped open his lighter, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and reached for the remainder of his cocktail._

"_Man, you have to be the luckiest man on earth, Perry," Drake exclaimed turning to his friend. Mason didn't respond, but continued to drain his glass and motioned to a passing server for a refill._

_Annoyed, Drake finally asked, "Are you alright?"_

_Mason looked up, discharged a cloud of smoke into the air and eyed the detective speculatively and couldn't help but think, 'Was he being that obvious, or did his friend really not have a clue?'_

"_Why?" the lawyer finally asked._

"_I don't know, because Delores' friend, your date, is a knock-out, a living doll!"_

"_Really?" Mason replied and looked off in the direction of the powder room. Eyes narrowed in thought, the lawyer tried to recall the woman Paul referred to as the 'knock-out'. And where was that waiter? He needed another drink to drown out the young woman's endless chatter and the constant irritation of her attempts at foreplay, the rubbing against him that caused them to constantly collide on the dance floor._

"_I'm sorry, Paul, I didn't notice."_

_The detective's mouth dropped open in disbelief and watched as the server delivered another cocktail to his friend._

"_Maybe you've had enough, Perry," the detective insisted._

_Mason took a hardy drink and smiled. "No, Paul, the problem is I haven't had enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to check my answering service."_

_Drake shook his head and pulled out a cigarette as he watched his broad-shouldered friend leave for the phones._

_Mason stopped in the entrance, took the last drag on his cigarette, dropped it in an ashtray, and headed for the phone banks. He paused outside an empty booth and considered his situation. _

'_No, he wasn't alright! The problem was his secretary.' _

Mason chuckled and swirled the wine in his glass. Funny, he remembered Katherine Graham's endless parade of competent secretarial candidates. They managed to squeeze them in at every opportunity- between appointments , after court. The whole process had become routine…. predictable…..never ending. And then there was Laura Donaldson pressuring him. Leave Los Angeles, come to Denver, join Tom Robertson's firm she pleaded. Mulling over her request he had shoved the letter in an edition of the Pacific Reporter he had been perusing. No doubt the letter was still pressed between the pages.

Then late one evening after a long exhausting day in court the routine and predictable parade came to an end with the shapely brunette straightening his hat on Justice Blackstone. It was the day Della Street changed his world. The chemistry between them was instant. Oozing charisma and good looks, he was immediately fascinated, a working girl veneer covering the alluring beauty of a debutante-she was an exquisite mystery he couldn't resist. Behind sparkling dark eyes he discovered a clever and observant mind capable of Holmesian intuition. To his delight, he found she was studying him as closely as he was studying her. The deal was clinched when she stated with confidence- they could be a team. In an instant the decision was made, he wouldn't be making that trip to Denver.

During the following weeks and months he was thankful his new secretary had grown tired of the routine nature of the civil legal practice of Sterling and Price. She was a quick study, and had easily taken over the responsibility of running his office. Plus she had acquired the uncanny ability to anticipate his needs to the point of being able to finish his sentences. It didn't take long before the formal 'Mr.' and 'Miss' disappeared behind closed doors.

Mason brought the wine glass to his lips and inhaled the fragrance and remembered the evolution of their relationship.

_Leaving the office they had continued the discussion of a case over dinner. While sipping their after-dinner coffee, the orchestra in the adjoining room began a familiar syncopated rhythm-a tango. Over the lip of his cup Mason watched her agile fingers discreetly tapping out the band's rhythm on the edge of the table and suppressed a knowing smile- because beneath the table his own foot eagerly matched her rhythm. _

_Who rose first, he couldn't recall. It didn't matter. In a heartbeat they were on the dance floor. Gingerly he held her in his arms like a delicate porcelain doll that could easily break. With each twist and turn, he was tempted to pull her closer, tempted to feel the movement of her graceful body, tempted to discover just how well her body would fit against his. _

_But he didn't. He was keenly aware he was skating along on a thin treacherous line, the thin line between boss and secretary. It was part of his nature to push the limits, to play it close, and stretch the limits of that line. But this risk was different. Play it wrong and he could lose it all. If he played his cards right, the reward,well, the winner could take all. Either way, the stakes were high because there was no unringing of this bell. _

_Together they moved, their steps and sweeping turns were precise and measured, moving as one unit forward and backward, they were always aware of the other. Softly she whispered in his ear, a thought, a word or two, an important detail. Elegantly they swept around the dance floor and noticed other dancers seemed to part for them as though allowing them to continue their show for all to see. When the music stopped, they stood breathless, not from the dance, but from the sheer excitement of their teamwork. Moving back to their table, all eyes seemed to follow them, and then he realized, others must see what he was feeling-he was a man in love. _

_Slipping inside the phone booth, Mason took a hardy drink of his cocktail for fortification before setting it aside to pick up the phone. Just because she danced with him didn't mean she didn't have a life outside the office. He couldn't expect her to sit at home all alone on a Friday night? He certainly wasn't. _

_But more importantly why would he be calling her at home on a Friday night? What excuse could he use? Holding the receiver in his hand he gently ran his fingers across his lips as he thought of every angle. Finally making his decision he brought the receiver to his ear, spoke to the operator and waited for the connection. Holding his breath he counted the number of rings. _

_One….two….three….._

_Maybe she was out…._

_...four…..five..._

_How could he expect her to be at home….._

_...six. _

_He felt his heart sink. Perhaps she's dancing with another man. He had to be prepared for that possibility._

_Then the phone clicked._

"_Hello," a sultry voice answered._

_Mason exhaled. "Hello, Della."_

"_Oh, hello, Perry. I'm glad you called. You know I've been thinking about Helene Taylor."_

_Mason leaned against the wall of the booth, and felt both relieved and pleased. "Really?"_

"_You know I think Helene Taylor is not telling us everything. I don't think she's a working girl at all, it's a hunch that I have."_

_Mason softly chuckled and marveled at her insights, insights he had grown to rely on. The lawyer smiled and swirled the ice in his drink. "O.K, tell me about your hunch, Della."_

_Yes, tell me about your hunches my darling, Della._ Mason pleasantly recalled as he gazed over the story before stopping cold- he had found something. It was referenced at the end of the cover story on the 'Monster Snakes of Venezuela'. At the end, the magazine teased- 'Want to know more? Check out our section entitled, 'Behind the Scenes' on page 145.' Mason quickly thumbed through the pages. A photograph took up one third of the page. The writer and photographer were framed on either side by palomino cutting horses, and behind them an endless tropical grassland haloed by an azure sky.

Mason's skilled eyes skimmed through the passages. The writer, Tomas Bardem, wrote of his moral outrage concerning the smuggling of endangered species. He had been a witness to the violations of CITES, the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species. Upon meeting their contact at the Caracas International Airport they had witnessed first-hand the atrocity of international wildlife smuggling. A suitcase had been confiscated before being loaded on an international flight out of the country. As they stood by, the suitcase had been forced opened revealing what appeared to be at first, neatly packed clothing. But on closer inspection the rows of black socks were hard and stiff. Carefully they were removed and the fabric peeled back. Inside the socks were the bound bodies of a dozen Yellow-eared Parrots, an endangered species found only in the Venezuelan cloud forests. All twelve of the endangered parrots had died from suffocation during their hours of transport. The writer declared his determination to find and bring to justice the elusive ringleader who proudly boasted of being able to deliver the most desired and endangered creatures in the world to anyone- for a price. Bardem referred to the ringleader as 'El Monstruo' or 'The Monster'.

Mason ran the edge of his fingers across his lips and contemplated the writer's resolve. He knew what it was like to be outraged and on the track of a monster, a human monster capable of doing anything. He had tracked many monsters in his career and knew the resolve it took to find justice. Looking up at the top photograph, he reached for a magnifier to take a closer look at this man, Tomas Bardem. Moving the lens around, he observed Valentina's smile playing to the camera, her hand holding the horse's reins while her arm circled loosely around her partner's waist.

Moving the lens over the bearded man, the lawyer found a different story. Bardem didn't play to the camera, but instead smiled at the woman by his side. Bringing the magnifier closer, the lawyer looked at the hand holding the reins, and the free arm that disappeared behind Valentina's waist. Where was his hand? Mason leaned forward, bringing the lens closer to the page, carefully inspecting the photograph, looking for the hand. Then he found it. The writer's hand rested along the curve of her hip. In Mason's mind a very intimate gesture. Learning back, the lawyer released a satisfied smile.

Reading Tomas Bardem's story Mason could see he was a man of deep conviction and passion. Returning the magnifier to the face of the smiling writer, Mason found it even easier to see, Tomas Bardem was a man in love.

~~~tbc~~~

For the full story of that early interview taken from Della and Perry's POV, please read "The Interview-Della" & "The Interview-Perry".

Inspiration for the 'tango', You Tube's 'The Tango Lesson'.


	5. Chapter 5

**A special thanks goes out to my beta who wishes to remain exotic and mysterious! You are a great set of second eyes! **

"**Quid pro quo"**

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**Thursday**_

_ Perry Mason leisurely drove the car down the city streets; he was in no hurry for the evening to end. Each time the glow of the street lights bathed the interior he took the opportunity to admire his companion, the crossed slender legs, and the way the tip of her shoe moved to the song she hummed. Mason smiled, he had been hearing the same song in his head as they drove along and glanced to his dance partner and noticed how her shoulders gently swayed to the rhythm as though still seated by the dance floor. _

_At that moment the lawyer had never been happier._

_ He had to admit he had found the perfect companion, someone who enjoyed a puzzle, a mystery and the sense of adventure as much as he did. Over the months their time together had grown more and more enjoyable. If practicing the high stakes nature of criminal law were like cake, his secretary, Della Street, would certainly be the icing. In her interview, Della had been right-they were a team. Their efforts moved as one and he had grown to rely on her solely. Della was definitely the icing on that legal cake-intelligent, intuitive, and beautiful. And now their time together was coming to an end, they were seconds away from her apartment. _

_ Slowing the car, he turned onto her street, and experienced two conflicting emotions-regret and excitement. Regret that their evening of dinner and dancing was coming to an end and the excitement of their last moments together for the evening as he walked her to her door. With the passage of time their relationship had grown and changed from boss and secretary-to friends, friends who enjoyed and shared the same goals and adventures. _

_ Pulling the car to the curb in front of her building, he brought the car to a stop. _

_ "You know, Perry, I can believe our dinners are a business expense," Della softly stated as she gathered her purse, and added with a throaty chuckle. "But I'm not sure about the after dinner dancing." _

_ Mason flashed his secretary an all-knowing smile before leaving the car to begin his gentlemanly ritual. _

_ As he opened her door, the lawyer knew he would be rewarded with a flash of shapely legs as Della Street stepped out onto the sidewalk and smoothed down her skirt. Pausing, she waited for him to protectively cup his hand around her elbow for their walk to the front of her building._

_ He had lost count of the number of times the ritual had been completed, the walk to her door, the reward of her radiant smile as she thanked and bid him good-night. Each time he would linger on the steps and watch her fit the key in the door and wait till she was safely inside. Leaning on the rail, his feet positioned to leave or to stay, he waited and hoped that someday she would move beyond their friendship and ask him to stay, to come upstairs to her apartment for coffee. Like Romeo beneath Juliet's window, he would look up with growing love and adoration, with the hope that someday they might be more than friends._

_ Again the ritual was complete, the smile, the thank-you for a lovely meal before she turned to the door. Taking his place on the steps he watched and waited for her to remove her keys when she hesitated and closed her purse. Beneath the glow of the outside light she stood at the top of the steps and looked down upon him. Mason took a deep breath and tightly gripped the railing as he watched her turn._

_ Slowly, with an easy grace she moved down the steps until she stood eye-to-eye with the lawyer. Della immediately noticed the disarray in his breast pocket and raised her skilled fingers to neaten it. Arranging his handkerchief had become a ritual, part of her attention to detail. With the same eye for order she organized the office, their documents for court and with the same care, the neatening of the lawyer himself. He had become accustom to her critical eye and had grown to rely on it. And so the evening would not be complete without this final gesture. Artfully she arranged and straightened the fold to her satisfaction as the lawyer's appreciative eyes looked on. What would he do without her?_

_ While watching this final gesture the lawyer's mind and heart were racing as he contemplated all the possibilities the night could hold. As she completed the final adjustment of his handkerchief her nimble fingers trailed along the top of his pocket before gliding along the edge of his lapels. Mason watched her efforts slow then pause. What was she thinking? Bringing his full attention to the beautiful face bathed in light he looked for a clue. Her fingers continued their journey to smooth his lapels before bringing her dark eyes to meet his. _

_Using all his talents of observation the lawyer looked for understanding. He had made the complete study of his secretary a top priority; her likes, dislikes, mannerisms, everything. But he had to confess, she still remained a beautiful mystery. He had only scratched the surface and had only mastered the superficial. He detected the slight furrowing of her brow and the pursing of her lips. He had seen the look before as she mulled over a complicated problem. Their silence amplified the sounds of the city streets as she paused._

_ Della allowed a single manicured nail to trail along his lapel as she broke the silence. "You said dinner was…."_

_ "…..business," Mason finished her sentence._

_ "And the dancing?"_

_ A faint smile and a dimple bloomed on the lawyer's face._

_ "Well, the dancing…."Mason looked to the side and raised expressive eyes, eyes haloed with thick lashes. "…I believe this is where business meets pleasure."_

_ Della's lips formed a perfect circle expressing her complete understanding. Her single finger transformed to a full palm that gently rested on the lawyer's chest as she leaned closer. "And walking me to my door?"_

_ "What do you think?" Mason asked, toying, enjoying their moment of closeness and an evening filled with possibilities. The answer to her question seemed clear, and yet her eyes seemed filled with hesitation and doubt. What was she thinking, his beautiful mystery? Why did she hesitate? How could she have doubt? He waited for her answer._

Valentina Bernini studied the lawyer's expressionless face over the edge of her wine glass. Earlier he had been savoring the wine, the leg of lamb, sauté vegetables, and now, the jurist was lost in a daydream. Staring over her shoulder, the jurist still held his fork with a bite of lamb. Swirling the fragrant liquid she studied her guest and admired his attire. He was not casually dressed as his last visit. Tonight he wore a neatly tailored navy three piece suit with a rich burgundy vest and a striking paisley tie to match. As always, his hair and beard were impeccable, face freshly shaven, his nails neatly manicured. He had taken her invitation for dinner very seriously. A smile toyed at the corner of her lips as she thought. _Who was she to talk?_ Hours earlier she had looked through her own closet, tried on four different garments before settling on an azure blue silk dress with white pearls. Looking in the mirror, she liked what she saw-sleek, simple, elegant-a look she knew her guest would appreciate.

On her bed beside the garments lay a sea of newspaper clippings, and magazine articles. She had clustered them not by date, but by content and interest. Skimming them all, she had made mental notes as she placed them into groups, cases, clients, characters, and dramas. Most of the cases she was certain had some unique or unusual quality that had attracted the lawyer's attention, and had guaranteed them a spot on the front page of many newspapers. She was confident she had skimmed only the surface with her small, but ample collection of clippings and articles. Mason's career had spanned decades and seemed destined to continue on. There were no rumors that she could find that indicated the defense attorney, known for his courtroom theatrics and legal adventures, was considering a career-altering change. In Valentina's mind it would be like a prize winning quarterback, known for skill and ingenious plays suddenly deciding one day to take to the sidelines, to become a referee. The judgeship was that kind of move. Instead of being the quarterback, Mason became the referee, someone who observes and makes sure the rules of the game are properly played and enforced. Valentina found the career change puzzling.

The puzzle did have possible answers. One newspaper photo in particular caught her eye and held it. Throughout her life and her career she had developed an affinity for details and uncanny ability to read between the lines. As a photographer, she appreciated a moment caught in time-a moment when the young, dark haired Mason and the tall, slender brunette at his side entered the hallway outside an LA courtroom. The couple paused briefly for the photographers; their faces turned not to the camera, but instead, to each other. Their knowing looks were captured on film.

She pulled out a magnifier for closer inspection. Very seldom did her subjects pause like this. Most of her images were captured on the sly as she moved silently and stealthy in their environment. Immediately her instincts took hold. The question about what transpired between Mason and his secretary after the hallway photo was no mystery. The answer was quite clear; they entered the public courtroom and performed their jobs. The real story, the real mystery was not in their public image. As a photographer, Valentina knew how she would tackle the story. She would aim for the events leading up to the hallway photograph, the events that created those knowing looks. She would aim to capture what had happened between them during their private ride in the service elevator? Or the time they had shared in the lawyer's office earlier that morning? Of one thing she could be certain; there was definitely a story behind their visual communication?

She moved from the bed and its sea of clippings to the dresser and the photograph of the galloping horse and the rider, Tomas Bardem. Carefully, she positioned the newspaper photo on the frame and stepped back. Taking a deep breath, she observed out loud, 'Yes, there's definitely a story behind every photograph.'

Placing the wine glass on the table, Valentina turned and followed the gaze of her dinner companion. It took only a few seconds to know what had captured his interest, a framed photograph on the shelf to her right. Earlier in the evening she had removed the photo of the beautiful gray gelding that glided across a flowery meadow along the Guadalquivir River and had exchanged it for another. The new photograph was another favorite.

Despite what she considered to be the jurist's expressionless courtroom visage she had managed to notice something he was not concealing so well-his attention. _But perhaps that's his intent_, she mused. _A man like Mason was not one to do anything unintentionally_. Slowly, she folded and placed her napkin on the table and moved to retrieve the framed photo.

"Perhaps you'd like a closer look, Your Honor?" She asked, holding the frame closer for his inspection.

The jurist's broad-shoulders shrugged as he chuckled. "Yes, it is very nice, Ms. Bernini."

Turning the frame in her hand, she took a second look as she returned to her seat and casually placed the photo on the table between them so they could continue admiring the striking black and white photograph.

"Where was it taken?" Mason casually asked as he wiped his lips with his napkin.

Resting her chin on her fist, Valentina's eyes narrowed in thought. "It's a local picture, somewhere in the Mission district, I don't recall the street." The photographer paused, waiting for her guest to further comment and was disappointed when he remained silent. Instead he took another bite of lamb, and casually smiled as though his daydream earlier had meant nothing.

"You can imagine being a photographer I've taken thousands of photographs. But I do have my favorites. I print, frame them, and move them around where I can enjoy them. They bring back fond memories."

"So this is one of your favorites?"

"Yes," she replied simply, watching her guest finish the last of his wine and noted with surprise- they had consumed the bottle.

Mason's eyes softened as he admired his hostess and her transition from casually clad artist in jeans and sweaters, to a woman of classic elegance sheathed in silk and pearls. So their dinner together was special after all.

Tilting his head to the side, Mason inquired, "So why is this a favorite of yours, Ms. Bernini?"

For a moment she paused, recalling the events. She always enjoyed roaming San Francisco at night, capturing the nightlife in black and white. Quietly moving along the streets, staying in the shadows, the click of her camera easily masked by the sound of music, laughter and urban noise, she managed to capture countless unguarded moments and an occasional mystery.

"When I work at night, I often use black and white. I like the sharp contrast between light and dark. It seems to bring out more detail, more textures than color film. Most of the time I work from the shadows, watching, waiting. In this case, I was heading back to my car when I happened to stumble upon this couple. I guess I'm being presumptuous when I say a couple."

Valentina paused again, looking at the framed image of the entry to an apartment building. The light over the entrance created a black and white study of a man and woman positioned on the steps to the building. It was an energy filled Friday night and most of her film had been exhausted capturing the fast and furious action of San Francisco. Her camera had one shot remaining. Seeing the couple on the steps she slipped into the shadows.

"So why did this man and woman attract your attention?" Mason asked, studying the artist rather than the art.

The photographer tilted her head and reminisced. "I guess it was the way they were dressed that caught my attention. After all it was a Friday night; they weren't dressed like the couples at the clubs or any of the other social events I had encountered. Their dress was more for the office, the man for example was wearing a business suit…..and the women as you can see has on a nicely tailored business suit and is carrying a briefcase. I couldn't resist a mystery. I slipped into the shadows, raised my camera and waited. Through my lens I was able to study them up close, their facial expressions and their physical closeness." Valentina's voice and manner softened at the memory. "I remember the man positioned himself on the rail in such a manner where he could easily leave or stay. I could see them speaking to each other, I couldn't hear their words, they were too far away. I assumed they were saying good-night. The young women turned to leave when she seemed to have second thoughts and returned to the top of the stairs." The artist softly laughed. "It took only an instant for the man to pivot and resume facing her. Slowly she moved down the stairs toward him. I was focusing and waiting, waiting for what might happen next between them. The night grew so still, my breathing seemed so loud, I was afraid they might hear me in the shadows, might hear the whine and click of my camera as I took their photograph."

Valentina reached out with the tip of her finger and touched the image of the couple. "You can see how his face turns up to hers, full of hope at where the evening might lead. In contrast the woman looks down; she's touching him, tentatively, as though she's thinking about asking him to join her upstairs. She's torn, full of doubt. Is it the man or is it something in her past that causes her to hesitate? She's conflicted. It made me wonder what was between them. I only had film for one shot; I had to make it count. So this is what you see. "

Mason waited till her attention returned to him. "I'm impressed with your resourcefulness, Ms. Bernini, being able to capture a candid and intimate moment like that takes skill and stealth. By slipping into the shadows," the lawyer paused, amusement playing in his eyes, "you were moving as quietly as a mouse, a musen." _A 'musen'. Yes, my darling musen, the lawyer thought, recalling the scrapbook and the sultry photograph of the reclining Valentina and the handwritten inscription below_.

"Thank you," Valentina replied as her fingers reached for the stem of her wine glass and nervously turned it.

"Yes, as quiet as a musen," Mason said, his eyes and lips smiling.

"Musen….what a strange word, what does it mean?" she asked with her own sweet smile, a smile she hoped would mask her own feelings.

"A hunting friend of mine used the word to describe the mouse residing in our cabin. He called the pesky little devil 'musen', he said it was Norwegian for mouse."

"How interesting! Musen, that's certainly a clever name. And yes, I guess I am resourceful."

Taking the frame in his hand, Mason turned it toward him. He thought of the artist's tropical and Parisian paintings hanging in his apartment and office and his memories of the smoky gray gelding from their previous dinner. They were more than mere coincidence-they had a connection. "Yes, Ms. Bernini, not only resourceful, but also very intuitive, very intuitive indeed."

Valentina Bernini felt the power and intensity of her dinner quest. She was feeling first-hand the lawyer's size and presence and could easily imagine witnesses wilting under his penetrating gaze.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll refresh our wine," she said, sliding back her chair, retrieving the empty bottle and moving into the kitchen all the while his voice softly whispered to her, m_y darling musen. _Tears began to gather in her eyes_. O_pening the refrigerator allowed her the opportunity to regain her composure and secretly wipe away any tears. She selected another bottle of wine, began to open it stopped and recalled the reason why she had taken the photo of the couple on the stairs.

_The sound of their shoes echoed on the tiles in the empty hallway. Back in civilization and the London field office of the National Geographic, they had just completed their final meeting with their editor. Their story would be appearing in the next issue of the magazine and technically they were finished with their collaboration and each would be soon receiving their new assignments._

_Together they walked down the hallway. Their time together was coming to an end. Head bowed, hands shoved into his pockets, Tomas Bardem was unusually quiet. They had not spoken since they had closed the editor's door. The silence between them was unusual, they were constantly communicating. To a passing stranger it might appear they were arguing, but in reality it was the heated and passionate brainstorming of two creative and strong-willed minds. Breathless and smiling they would eventually reach an agreement or sometimes an amiable truce. In the hallway even their uneven footsteps soon became synchronous and sounded as one. _

_Valentina was brimming with emotions-excitement over her photograph, the bull and matador, gracing the cover of the next issue of the Geographic. And then there was the strange feeling she couldn't quite place. Usually at the end of an assignment she felt a sense of completion and anticipation, she was always looking forward to a new assignment, a new adventure. This feeling was unique-it was a feeling of deep loss. _

_They slowed and stopped at the end of the hall as apposing stair cases descended to separate streets. Tomas stopped and looked back and forth at the stairs going off in two directions and understood its symbolism. _

"_Congratulations on your front page," he said._

_Valentina released a wan smile and nervously fingered the fastener on her leather bag. "Yeah, I guess it's a pretty big deal having a photograph on the cover. Of course, people don't just look at the Geographic for its picture, right?"_

_Tomas shuffled slightly, chuckled and sarcastically replied, "Yeah, right and Russians don't love vodka. Of course they look for the pictures! It is a big deal!"_

_The photographer bit her lip to suppress her laughter, enjoying one of their private moments. She also resisted the urge to reach out and touch him, to adjust his twisted collar, to continue their physical connection. _

"_You know, Tom, my photo wouldn't be on the cover if it weren't for your story."_

_The writer self -consciously shrugged it off and glanced at his watch. "I guess it's time for us to move on, to head our separate ways. So take care of yourself."_

"_You too."_

_Both turned to head in their separate directions, when they both paused as though experiencing an afterthought. And then as if on cue, they both turned and covered the distance, their arms folding around the other in an embrace. Valentina fought back what she was sure were tears and enjoyed the smell of his cologne and pipe tobacco one last time. For a moment she thought she felt him quiver beneath her touch when abruptly they parted. Feeling as though life were being sucked from her, she turned, inhaled and quickly descended the stair leaving the writer behind. _

"_Valentina!" She heard him call her name._

_Abruptly she stopped and turned. He was standing at the top of the stairs looking down._

"_I'm off to Borneo," he called. "They want me to cover the mangroves of Sabah."_

_She leaned against the rail and waited. Why was he prolonging their parting? Why did he have to make this so difficult?"_

"_Orangutans, proboscis monkeys, mudskippers, you know, that sort of thing," Tomas said as he slowly descended the stairs and stopped on the step above her._

_His clear blue eyes glistened and sparked with renewed energy as he spoke of his upcoming adventure. "I wasn't sure just now, where we stood, you and me."_

_It was all she could do to hold back tears and he too glanced away for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. _

_Funny, Tomas Bardem at a loss for words, she thought, holding her up her head, trying to remain in control._

_Turning back, he released a boyish smile. "I can't believe I'm at a loss for words."_

"_Yeah, like a Russian doesn't like vodka," Valentina softly laughed._

"_What I'm trying to say is…..I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing when I spoke to Nigel. I may have made a terrible error in judgment. Perhaps I'm being presumptuous."_

_Not able to stand his twisted collar any longer, Valentina reached up and straightened it. Tomas was caught off guard by her actions and awkwardly nodded his appreciation for her efforts._

"_Presumptuous?" she asked incredulously as she stepped back._

"_Yes, I wondered if I was being presumptuous when I asked Nigel if you'd be available for the Borneo assignment."_

"_Yes, you were being presumptuous!" Valentina laughingly replied. "You're always, presumptuous, Tomas Bardem."_

_The writer's eyes grew wide, confused. "I didn't know if you would be interested!"_

"_Interested?" she asked, toying with him, feeling elated. "Why would I not be interested?"_

"_I don't know. I just wasn't sure."_

"_Well, if you insist, Tom."_

_The writer moved to stand next to her on the step. "Well, of course, I insist," he replied, confidently squaring his shoulders and adjusting the strap of the bag casually slung over his shoulder. "I think we should discuss how we will approach this story."_

"_I'm hungry, Tom. I can't think until I've had some food."_

"_Of course, we'll have dinner, and I'll bring along my maps."_

"_And I'll bring along my manuals. Mangroves, you know I do have some interesting underwater photographic techniques I'd like to try."_

"_Splendid," Tomas replied as they continued their discussion step by step._

Valentina stood holding the bottle of wine and released a gentle sigh. _'Yes, there's definitely a story behind every photograph,' she thought. _

While his hostess popped the cork on a fresh bottle, Mason finished the lamb on his plate with relish. The muted lights, cool silence and the flavorful wine had created an atmosphere of total relaxation. He was enjoying the company of this beautiful woman with the complete understanding that he was not looking for a romantic relationship. But despite his best intentions, he did find he was attracted to her and to her life in an unexpected way. He was attracted to her adventurous and intuitive nature. An evening with Valentina was as though he were looking in a mirror.

Valentina returned to the table, refilled their glasses and quickly gathered their plates.

"I can't recall when I've had a more delicious meal," the lawyer complimented. The artist paused, then smiled as she walked into the kitchen and slipped the dishes into the sink. Drying her hands on a towel, she returned to the table and her dinner guest.

"Thank you, Your Honor. I'm flattered. I'm sure Chilean sea bass is quite delicious. But I had a feeling you might enjoy lamb for a change, you impressed me as a meat and potatoes kind of man. I guess I was correct."

"Was I that obvious?" Mason chuckled.

Valentina tilted her head and released a sly smile. "Perhaps it was the adventure of bending the rules that you relished so much?"

Mason smiled, sipped his wine, enjoying their little game.

The photographer's eyes grew dreamy and recalled her own day in Piombino, Italy.

_The view from the kitchen window was spectacular. The Isle of Elba seemed to float on the horizon surrounded by deep blue seas and billowy white clouds. The harbor below the apartment was filled with boats of every description. She had removed the leg of lamb from the oven and while it rested she used a spoon to dip and pour the succulent juices over the crisp and seasoned skin. The preparation, the baking and now the basting were all a labor of love-for leg of lamb was his favorite. Looking out the window at the street below, she anxiously watched and waited for his return. _

_Suddenly, strong arms encircled her, a pair of lips and a beard nuzzled her neck. Alarmed, she dropped the spoon into the hot juices, and instinctively struggled._

"_My darling, musen, how I've missed you," he whispered in her ear bringing a sigh of relief to the struggling artist. Relaxing, she leaned back into his arms._

"_Oh, Tom, you frightened me," she exclaimed, rubbing his cheek with her hand. Turning her in his arms, he passionately kissed her, pulled her near. "It's good to be back, and what is this?" he asked looking over her shoulder, spying the roasted lamb on the counter._

"_Oh, that's a little treat for you."_

_ The writer released her from his embrace but held possession of her hand and gently kissed it as he inspected the roasted prize. _

_ "And here I thought you would be my only treat tonight."_

_ Valentina chuckled and kissed him on the cheek as his free hand plucked a loose piece of lamb and sampled it._

"_Your flatter me," she said, circling his waist with her arm. "So what did they say, where are we going?"_

_ "Oh, it will be quite the adventure, my darling musen; we're off to the llanos of Venezuela in search of Senora Monstra, the largest anaconda in the world."_

Mason noticed his dinner companion drifting off in her own daydream and asked, "Adventure, bending the rules, isn't that what makes life worth living?

Valentina slowly turned her attention to the lawyer. "I suppose. You like the adventure, the bending of rules."

Relaxed, learning forward in his chair, the jurist smiled and nodded. "And you?"

She released a coy smile and also nodded. Mason raised his glass for an informal toast and gestured in the direction of the black and white photograph. "To an easy friendship."

"To an easy friendship," she replied raising her glass to meet his, gently touching the rim, as they enjoyed the wine and the company.

Valentina pointed toward the young woman in the photo whose hand rested on the man's chest. "I wondered about their friendship. Was he a co-worker…or maybe her boss? I wonder…did they move beyond friendship."

The lawyer tilted his head, inspecting the man and woman again. "Hmm, an interesting question."

"Co-worker, boss, there was definitely something between them."

"You were there. What happened next?"

Valentina softly laughed as she stretched and leaned back in her chair, and ran the tips of her fingers through her wavy hair. "I wish I could tell you. Only seconds after I snapped this photo, someone across the street stepped outside to walk their dog. Their outside light came on, the dog began to bark and jump. I was no longer in the shadows so I immediately left. I'm afraid the future of our couple will remain a mystery."

"Hummph." Mason said shaking his head.

An easy calm fell between them as they sipped their wine and enjoyed their own thoughts. Valentina released an audible sigh. "You know that's the magic of a single moment captured on film. A moment that is part of a larger story, and whoever views that single moment, like you and I, we add our own memories to that moment to form an even larger story."

"Like the magic of your paintings."

Immediately the Parisian Café and Jamaican beach came to mind and the artist released an all-knowing smile. "Yes, like the magic of my paintings."

Mason's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the significance of the photographer's words and how their lives and memories were somehow intertwined_. What a tantalizing mystery you are?_

"Speaking of magic moments, I wonder if you might share another one of your adventures with me?"

The lawyer shook his head and chuckled with amusement as he reached in his breast pocket and retrieved his reading glasses. "And what new adventure do we have this week?"

Removing the first clipping from beneath her placemat, she turned it so the jurist could see. The L.A. Inquirer had chosen to use a stock photo of a youthful, dark-haired Perry Mason to accompany a news story.

Mason leaned in for a closer look, and quickly frowned. "Where do they get these photos?"

"Oh, Your Honor," Valentina chided his frown. "It's a handsome face!"

The jurist shrugged his massive shoulders, shaking his head, he began to protest, when she gestured him to silence.

"It's still a handsome face," she stated firmly, chin raised defiantly. With an elegant turn of her hand she pointed to the portrait in the far corner. "I must remind you, Your Honor, that I have spent a great deal of my time studying every inch of your face. In my artistic opinion I think it is a very handsome face."

Learning back in his chair, Mason laughed with amusement, eyes twinkling with mischief. "So it's your artistic opinion?"

Valentina brought her wine glass to her lips, paused, then coyly added, "It's also a personal opinion as well, Your Honor."

Suddenly Mason leaned across the table, the intensity of his blue eyes and the sheer power and proximity of his presence took her by surprise. "Your Honor, Your Honor! Such formality! I think it's time you and I moved on, don't you? I believe it's time you called me,_ Perry_."

The photographer's eyes widened slightly as she slowly lowered her glass, and used the tip of her tongue to remove any traces of wine from her lips. Softly, she replied, "Very well…Perry it is."

Looking down at the clipping, she allowed her finger to glide along its surface, stalling while she gathered her thoughts. _To an easy friendship, _he had toasted, and she had raised her glass in agreement. After all she was quite familiar with men like Perry Mason, men who were used to getting what they wanted and the thought excited her.

"In that case, feel free to call me, Valentina," she began, "or my friends call me, Val." Glancing down at the clipping, she could easily imagine a young, virile Perry Mason, with broad shoulders, a deep voice, intense blue eyes, a man who oozed charisma. Attractive, successful, he was a man who could have had any woman he wanted and yet….. she could find only one woman who seemed to hold his attention. The thought still intrigued her as she looked up at the older, wiser and still very charismatic Perry Mason.

"Well, Perry," she started. "Please share this adventure with me." Turning the newspaper clipping so they both might see, she continued. "The Inquirer ran a story concerning the sale of a young woman's personal diaries. Apparently she was the stenographer for an eccentric millionaire who dabbled in primate research. And while on his yacht off the coast of Catalina the young woman disappeared. Was she the victim of a horrible accident, a suicide, or was it something more sinister."

Mason took the article and studied it for a moment. _Why out of all my cases would she select this on_e? He thought. "My, my, you do find the interesting ones. The diaries were sold at an auction at the Public Administrator's office. The story made it to the newspapers." Mason adjusted his reading glasses and gestured to the other clippings. "What other cases do you have?"

It was Valentina's time to smile. It appeared she had struck a nerve. _Why was he so quick to gloss over this case? _Holding firm, she continued looking at the clipping. "I think the papers were anxious to run this story because it seems the dead woman's diaries were purchased by Perry Mason's confidential secretary, Della Street. It caused quite a stir because everyone seems to think she purchased them on your behalf. Did she, did she buy them on your behalf?"

Mason eyed the clipping critically, his fingertips running through his beard stroking the angle of his jaw. "No," he said reluctantly. He remembered the case well and openly shared the reasons behind the purchase. "Della didn't buy the diaries on my behalf, the purchase was her idea. She always had an eye for a mystery. I could count on her to find new and novel cases. She was always good at reading between the lines, she was very intuitive. Della knew there must be clues hidden in Helen's entries and if she possessed those diaries she might find something that would explain the young woman's disappearance."

"You sound as though you didn't approve of her purchase."

The lawyer looked off a moment. It wasn't the diaries, or the purchase. It was something far more complicated. Looking back, he realized this was the first tiny crack in their fracturing relationship. The moment was burned into his memory.

The day had been rough and tedious. He was exhausted and couldn't wait to leave the courthouse, when Della Street rushed up to him in the hallway. Fresh from the auction, bubbling with enthusiasm, Della couldn't wait to show him her newest purchase. Turning on the charm she began to present her case and all the possible reasons why 'they' should look into it.

All he could see was another case, an added responsibility, an additional burden to an already burdensome caseload. _ Why is she doing this to me? he groaned_. _Why can't she see how frustrated I am_? Judge Randall had already ruled against him earlier in the morning and he was in no mood for another case.

"Let's just say the timing was off." Mason finally responded. "But as we took the diaries back to my office and my secretary began to read through them, she was able to convince me the young woman's disappearance from the yacht wasn't a suicide as some papers reported. We were also contacted by the newspaper concerning my secretary's purchase and I decided to grant them an interview. It always pays to be on good terms with the press."

Mason paused, eyes narrowed, and faintly smiled at the memory. Huddled around the office table, almost cheek to cheek, they read through the young woman's diaries. He recalled slipping his arm around Della's waist, enjoying their closeness, bringing back memories of earlier times in their lives when every case was a new adventure for them. He recalled how Della's eyes would widen as she read a passage, then exclaim, 'Look at this, Perry!' Together they would re-read the passage. For a moment he joined her excitement and shared her energy.

"Your secretary, a Miss…"

The jurist was pulled from his thoughts and slowly replied, "Miss Street, Della Street."

"Yes, Della Street. I have to admire a woman who loves a good mystery," Valentina nodded, watching her companion, enjoying their little game. She removed another clipping. "But that wasn't the end of it, was it?"

Still holding the paper, Mason ran his fingertips across his lips as he thought. "No, there was a shyster lawyer named, Fallon, Nathan Fallon. He showed up at my office offering five dollars for the diaries. Fallon was Benjamin Addicks' attorney."

"Addicks was the millionaire, the one who studied primates and Helen's' boss?"

Mason nodded. "It didn't take long for me to determine Fallon had ulterior motives when he eventually offered to pay one thousand dollars for the diaries."

Valentina's brows rose with surprise, "So did he get the diaries for one thousand dollars?"

"Hardly," Mason chuckled, "I threatened to physically throw him out of my office."

The photographer laughed.

"We decided there must be more to these diaries, so 'we' began to read them."

"We?" she asked.

"Yes, my secretary and I."

"Della Street?"

"Yes, Della."

"So I guess the timing wasn't off after all."

"No, I suppose not."

Valentina continued to pull clippings from beneath her placement. "I was rather surprised that Helen's diaries had caused such a stir. And then after the diaries there's the housekeeper, Mrs. Kempton. She claimed Mr. Addicks had unjustly fired her and was trying to keep her from gaining employment. It says here she's trying to sue her ex-boss. I can see why the newspapers loved this. A curvaceous stenographer who disappears off a millionaire's yacht and leaves behind her personal diaries. Then the diaries are purchased by Perry Mason's secretary. And of course we have the eccentric millionaire with a collection of primates who the press claimed were being used for bizarre mind control experiments. It says here that Addicks was trying to hypnotize and train them. And apparently they first thought a homicidal gorilla had killed Addicks, but then they charged the housekeep, Mrs. Kempton."

Mason finished the wine in his glass and smiled. "It certainly was an interesting case."

"Do you remember the details of all your cases?"

The lawyer leaned back in his chair and contemplated her question. "Let's just say that some are more memorable than others, like your Geographic assignments."

Valentina nodded. "Point taken."

"How do you keep them all straight?"

"We would usually find a suitable name for them, perhaps a unique characteristic." Mason's eyes softened, remembering a detail. "Usually my secretary would manage to create a clever alliterative title."

"Alliterative titles," Valentina repeated, watching her companion closely. "So it was usually Della. So what was the name for this one?"

"The Case of the Grinning Gorilla."

Mason glanced over at the black and white photograph of the couple on the steps and recalled a bittersweet moment during the case.

_While Paul Drake ran a lead, they found the time to slip into a little Chinese restaurant for dinner. Leaning back in the booth, Mason looked across the table at Della Street and felt a moment of nostalgia. Where had the years gone? He was certainly feeling the effects of time, but not Della. The lawyer's eyes softened as he admired her. No, Della continued to be a timeless beauty and blessed with boundless energy and enthusiasm. From the shadows a server appeared, placed fresh teacups and two fortune cookies on the table, politely bowed then disappeared._

_Della took one, opened it, read it, smiled, folded the paper and began to place the slip in her coin purse when the lawyer spoke._

"_Wait," Mason said and frowned. "You didn't share your fortune."_

_Della's cheeks blushed as she shook her head._

"_Why, Della," Mason chided, "You normally don't keep secrets from me."_

"_Well, this is different."_

"_Why?"_

"_I'm sorry," she said as her blush deepened. "It wouldn't have been so bad if I had shared it right away, but now it seems awkward."_

_With that explanation out of the way she dropped the slip of paper in her coin purse._

_Mason took out a fortune, cracked it open._

"_What's yours?" she asked as she sipped her tea._

_Mason abruptly folded the fortune and slipped it in his pocket._

_Della chuckled. "Why Perry, you didn't even read yours. Now who's keeping secrets?"_

_The lawyer grinned, removed the fortune and read it out loud._

'_The fortune says: To reach your goal, remember that courage is the only antidote for danger.'_

_Both nodded, satisfied, they resumed sipping their hot tea. _

"_Do you believe in fortunes?" Della finally asked._

"_No, of course, not," the lawyer quickly replied and dismissed the notion with a brush of his hand. "They print these things up by the hundreds. I don't know how many different fortunes they use, but I'm sure there are a hundred or so."_

"_Then do you believe in fate?" Della countered._

_Mason could see the sincerity in her eyes. "The Chinese do to an extent. With a hundred different messages, it would be fate as to the one you might select."_

"_Well, I believe in fate. I think your fortune has a personal message just for you," Della stated matter-of-factly._

_Again, the lawyer smiled, his curiosity peaked by Della's mysterious fortune. "I think what you're really trying to say, Della, is that you hope the fortune you selected has a personal message just for you."_

_Della stared off to the side for a moment and crossed her arms. Through years of close association he knew he had touched a sore point and quickly apologized._

"_I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were serious." He reached across the table and took her hand. _

"_Do you want me to call, Paul?" she asked, changing the subject._

_Gently, his fingers stroked her hand, trying to repair the damage. "No, you stay here and drink your tea. I'll go call, Paul."_

"_I'm not angry. I'm…"_

_Mason's eyes softened, lovingly stroking her fingers, he noticed how her eyes averted his. Finally she agreed, "All right, go ahead. Call Paul." _

Mason's attention was pulled from the couple on the stairs by the appearance of yet another newspaper clipping retrieved from Valentina's placemat. _Yes, there's certainly a story behind every photograph. _

"And now, Perry," Valentina began, enjoying the more intimate use of his name. She did agree, they had moved on. "So tell me about the incident at Stonehenge, Benjamin Addicks' estate. From the newspaper accounting it sounds like quite a fiasco. But then I suppose income tax evasion, embezzlement, family betrayal, and an undivorceable insane wife would definitely create the climate for at least one murder, and possibly another."

Mason took the article from her and glanced over it. "Yes, it was a fiasco," he recalled. He remembered during the ride to the estate he had shared some, but not all, of his ideas concerning the case with Della Street.

_In a soft, but firm voice, he explained, "If I'm successful in getting a look around the house, I want you to keep away from me."_

"_What?" Della asked in disbelief._

"_To keep away from me."_

_Puzzled by his request, she asked for clarification. "How far away?"_

"_Some distance away. And under no circumstance are you to try to cope with any unexpected situation which may arise."_

_Della's eyes and mouth were open wide. "What on earth are you talking about?"_

"_If we should find another gorilla, a hypnotized gorilla, I don't want you to try to help me. No matter what happens, I want you to get out of there, jump in the car and drive to the nearest phone and call the police."_

_Mason slowed and pulled the car through the gates of Stonehenge. With the turn, Della Street slipped across the seat and grabbed his arm and leg, any physical contact in an effort to make him slow or stop the car. "Perry, I don't like this, you think there's another hypnotized gorilla? We shouldn't go in there; we should call the police now!"_

_Still remaining calm, Mason continued slowly, "I think there's a key clue which has been overlooked. I think that if you're with me, and are in a position to escape, we may learn what that clue is. However, if you stay too close to me, we may both be trapped." _

"_But what will happen to you?"_

_A boyish smile spread across the lawyer's face, "Remember the fortune, courage is the best antidote for danger."_

_The expression on Della's face showed her displeasure._

"Tell me about the fiasco, Perry," Valentina asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Well, it turns out Benjamin Addicks had faked his death in Australia and left his brother, Herman Barnwell behind to face the police and a murder charge. As you've read in the paper, there was no love lost between the two brothers. All of Addicks' business transactions were completed in cash to avoid paying income taxes. Because the books were cooked, Hershey, Addicks' business partner and Fallon, Addicks' lawyer, had a great deal of freedom with his money. The two decided to siphon off large amounts of cash. Then Herman Barnwell, Addicks brother, contacted the two embezzlers and offered them a deal they couldn't refuse.

"To make a long story short, Hershey, Fallon, and Barnwell decided to make it look like a gorilla had killed Addicks, with Barnwell dressed in a gorilla suit and Mrs. Kempton as a witness. But events went wrong, and Mrs. Kempton was cast in the role of a murderess. By the end of the case, they knew they would like to dispose of me. I was getting too close, putting too many of the pieces of the puzzle together."

Valentina listened attentively, enjoying the excitement in his voice as he relived the moment. "So they decided to attack you."

Mason nodded, staring down at the article. "I knew if they could kill me under such circumstances where Della Street could actually see the gorilla, a strange, menacing grinning gorilla, and run to the police, her story of a murderous gorilla might be believed. It would confirm Mrs. Kempton's story of a murderous gorilla the night Benjamin Addicks was killed."

"Tell me about it, Perry."

Mason looked off for a moment, visualizing the event.

"Della and I were invited into the house by Barnwell and Hershey. Barnwell offered drinks and set the stage by excusing himself to a private bar in another room where he changed into the gorilla suit. He then appeared in a doorway long enough for Della to get a look at him and screamed. Barnwell then fired several shots, and then reappeared in the doorway with a knife."

Valentina's eyes widened and leaned closer to the jurist. "You must have been frightened."

Mason's eyebrows danced as he laughed. "I'll say, but by then it was too late, I had played my hand. They knew I would turn to run, and good old Hershey was there to pretend he was assisting me by yelling and running from the beast, while in reality he was hindering me, pulling me down by grabbing my coat tails so the gorilla could close the distance. This was the time they hoped Della would see the menacing gorilla, turn and run to the police. They figured when Della returned with the officers they would find two badly shaken men, both whom would swear they had seen a gorilla who had escaped through the grounds and that the gorilla had killed me. Depending on whether the knife or the gun had ended my life, Hershey could explain it either way. The gorilla killed me with the knife, or as they fired the gun to kill the gorilla, I was accidently shot and killed."

The photographer's chin rested on her closed fist and marveled at his life. "You were certainly taking chances. So if Hershey was grabbing you, trying to slow you down, then how were you able to stop the gorilla?"

Mason paused, and recalled their exchange on that day.

_The gunshot roared through the house. Somewhere a chair overturned. Della Street ran toward Mason._

"_Get back, get back!" he barked at her. "Do as I say!"_

_Della stopped suddenly with a hurt look as though his words had literally slapped her in the face._

_Suddenly a large, hulking gorilla filled the doorway leading from the kitchen. The gorilla's eyes stared ahead with a grin fixed on its features._

"_Good Lord!" Hershey yelled, then turned to run, and paused to check the primate's progress. The gorilla moved toward Mason with one hairy knuckle resting on the floor, the other holding a gleaming carving knife._

_Hershey continued to shout and stumbled over a chair and by doing so grabbed at the lawyer's coat tails in an effort to pull him down. The business partner then rose from the floor and produced a revolver and fired three shots from a kneeling position._

_The gorilla's eyes were focused on Perry Mason as it moved forward. _

_Della Street moved further into the room. "Perry, I can't leave you!" From across the room their eyes meet. Mason could see the look of eternal love in Della's eyes, a look he would never forget, a look that told him she would gladly die with him rather than live without him. _

_Hershey began to babble incoherently as he tried to stumble against Mason in an attempt to throw him off balance. The lawyer knew his time was running out and called to her, "Della, please, go!"_

_And with those words, Della swiftly turned and ran from the room._

Mason inhaled deeply, regaining his composure and his thoughts. "How did I stop the gorilla? I used my skills from the service, the skills I used during the war. I disarmed the beast by side-stepping, grabbing the arm with the knife, twisting it sharply until the knife dropped. I could feel the muscles in Barnwell or the gorilla's arm twitch and go immobile. I think it was from the shock of being overwhelmed. I took advantage of that moment of surprise to deliver a punch to the mid-section followed by a knee lift to the face. I suppose Hershey was concerned and fired another shot. That one whipped past my head and crashed into the wall. By that time the big gorilla had collapsed and toppled onto the floor. I turned my attention to Hershey, anticipating another shot. The business manager raised the gun again and was taking aim, ready to pull the trigger…."

Unexpectedly, the lawyer stopped and Valentina, leaning closer, following every word, and almost fell forward thinking she had missed something.

"Oh, Perry, you can't stop now. What happened? Did Della bring the police?"

Mason, paused, bowed his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. Valentina could feel the emotion and reached out and covered his free hand, enjoying their connection. "An easy friendship, remember," she said softly.

The jurist straightened, lowered his hand and let it rest on top of hers. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to caress her fingers, noting their softness and their strength. The room became quiet, seconds passed. Finally Mason heaved a weary sigh, looked off with eyes growing moist. Smiling wanly, he turned to his dinner companion and found sympathetic eyes.

"Hershey pulled the trigger," Mason slowly continued. "But the hammer clicked. In an instant Hershey backed away and hurriedly began shoving fresh cartridges into the cylinders. I lunged toward Hershey to stop him and fell over the outstretched arm of the gorilla. As Hershey shoved the last cartridge home I was at his mercy on the floor. The barrel of the gun was lowered and I could see the sights aimed directly at my forehead."

Mason paused and looked away. Valentina reached out with her other hand and covered his, joining him. "I'm listening, Perry," she spoke softly, leaning closer.

Slowly the jurist turned and resumed his story. "Suddenly I could see Della in the doorway, a stone image in her hand. I thought she had gone for help, but there she stood, carrying this massive figurine. Then with all her strength, she rushed forward and brought it down on the back of Hershey's head, the gun dropped and he fell forward. I scrambled and grabbed the revolver."

Mason faintly smiled and glanced off at the couple on the steps. "I couldn't begin to describe what I felt that day. Fear, relief, anger at her stubbornness for not following my instructions, but most of all, I felt an overwhelming feeling of…." His voice trailed off.

Valentina finished his sentence inside her head…..love, _an overwhelming feeling of love_.

"Della saved your life that day didn't she?"

Mason nodded still staring at the framed couple and recalled the moments after their celebration in his office and his call to Helen Cadmus. Earlier in the day he had stopped and picked up his change from the Chinese restaurant along with Della's missing coin purse. Opening the purse, he spied the slip of paper, the mysterious fortune. For a moment he hesitated. Should he respect her privacy, or succumb to his own need to read the mysterious fortune? What would Della do? He smiled and in an instant knew the answer. Della could never resist a good mystery. He pulled out the slip.

Smoothing out the paper, he read the fortune: If you marry him you will be very happy and present him with a man child who will be very like his father.

Della's reasons for concealing the fortune became very clear. He understood her reluctance. And later, when he handed her the coin purse she swore she had placed the fortune inside. It must have fallen out when you pulled out your notebook he offered and noticed the look of relief on her face. Little did she know the fortune rested in a place where it would remain safe for years to come. Even now as an Appeals Court Justice, the fortune remained securely tucked inside his wallet. It was a fortune he wished they could have made come true.

"Yes, Della saved my life that day," he agreed. Later that night as they slept, he gingerly allowed his fingertips to move over the soft curve of her shoulder and thought of their life together and how quickly it could have all ended. He couldn't begin to count the number of times they had argued about his risk-taking or the times he had fumed over her stubborn refusal to follow 'all' of his directions. But tonight as he held her close, he could only remember her look of eternal love when she declared she couldn't leave him. My brave beautiful, Della, my bravery is nothing compared to yours.

"You're a lucky man to be alive," Valentina said, gently slipping her hands from his. "And you're an even luckier man to have had such an extraordinary secretary as Della Street." The artist glanced over at the framed couple. "I don't know of many secretaries who would go to such lengths for their boss."

Mason followed her eyes to the frame and shook his head. "Yes, I agree." Raising the glass of wine, the lawyer offered a mock toast. "So there you have it, the case of the Grinning Gorilla."

**Author's Note: at the end.**

Valentina joined his mock toast as they sipped their wine. With their toast out of the way, Mason reached down and pulled from his binder an issue of the _National Geographic_. Valentina followed the magazine with anxious eyes.

"Now that we've 'shared' my adventures, it seems only fitting that we should 'share' one of yours. Remember, quid pro quo."

"Of course," the photographer agreed sweeping back a lock of hair from her face. "Well, Perry, which wonderful adventure did you select?"

"It seems we have a theme of dangerous animals," the lawyer announced as he placed the magazine between them, and allowed it to fall open to a massive, gapping pink mouth with its rows of backward facing teeth.

"The Monster Snakes of Venezuela," Mason grandly announced.

_Of all the Geographic stories, why would he select this one? _She thought. Glancing in the direction of the binders, she wondered if he might have another one.

Mason noticed her furtive glances and thought. _So this was a good choice after all. _

Valentina gracefully nodded and decided to quickly gloss over the story. With a cool efficiency she described the llano, a flat watery plain, similar to America's Everglades. Vast and flooded, they had waited till the dry season to more easily find the anaconda, a constrictor that lived freely in the marshy plain. Pointing to page after page of photographs, of vast vistas, underwater views of the massive head of the constrictor and finally, a two page spread showing the engorged body of one large serpent.

Mason leaned closer and finally asked, "What has it eaten?"

The photographer leaned in and pointed to the massive middle. "That was once a young capybara. The capybara are the largest rodents in the world. They can reach one hundred pounds. This youngster was probably close to seventy-five pounds."

The lawyer shook his head in amazement. Valentina continued. "We encountered snakes over twenty feet long and weighing four to five hundred pounds. The researcher we traveled with had been able to identify almost all of them by their distinctive black and white checked belly markings near their tails. We found the females are the largest while the males are relatively small."

They both paused as Mason flipped through the story. Valentina sipped her wine and seemed relieved his questions were relatively easy, but then she noticed the lawyer had paused over a section of the story. He had even bookmarked the section with a slip of paper.

"I noticed the writer, Tomas Bardem, has briefly mentioned his near death experience with an anaconda. And if you look over here in this photo he's covered with mud. Would you mind explaining what he meant by near death experience, Valentina?" Slowly, the lawyer slid the magazine across the table, folded his hands and waited.

So this is how it must feel to be on the stand. She could imagine Mason leisurely walking around the witness stand casually asking easy questions, while the witness relaxed, thinking all is going well, when out of the blue, he places the photo and the caption 'near death' on the stand in front of you and asked the loaded question, 'Would you mind explaining this 'near death experience?' Then with his penetrating gaze he would wait for a reaction and your response.

Valentina shrugged her shoulders. "Well, being in the field can be dangerous. The locals tell stories, stories about seeing the giant constrictors coiling around their victim, seeing the animal struggle, gasping for air and with each gasp the coils tighten. They even claim to hear the animal's ribs cracking beneath constrictor."

She looked away for a moment, and recalled their heated argument following the near-death incident. Standing behind their horses, away from the others, they heatedly argued about risks and Tom's growing preoccupation with 'El Monstruo''. As Tom wiped water and mud from his face, he had countered the incident had not occurred because he was preoccupied with 'El Monstruo' and besides he wasn't the only person willing to take unnecessary chances. Little did Mason know the anaconda incident was just the beginning in a long series of events and pursuits that would eventually threaten both of their lives.

"With that being said, Valentina, how did the writer escape from the anaconda's death grip?"

Valentina could not meet his gaze, those penetrating blue eyes. It was her turn to feel the intensity of life and death emotions. Slowly, she began. "We were traveling with the researcher and her assistants by horseback across the dry portions of the llanos when we received a radio call of a sighting. A very large snake was on the move. We hurried to the area and proceeded to wade into the marsh with sticks to poke and prod the mud and vegetation. I had my camera ready. When Tom yelled out he had something. He reached down into the vegetation and proudly pulled up the tail of a large female. The others hurried toward Tom. I was close to Tom holding my camera taking photos, when suddenly the anaconda wreathed to the side, pulling Tom into the vegetation."

Struggling, she looked to the side and bit her lip and glanced at her companion and found his sympathetic eyes. "I'm listening,' he said softly.

"I was shocked, Perry. One minute he's in my viewfinder and the next second I see the massive body writhing up and encircling his chest. He's down in the water and the others are frantically trying to get to him. I can't bear to look at those photos, even now."

Mason reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, a symbol of his understanding of what she had experienced.

Weakly, Valentina smiled, appreciating their easy friendship and continued the story. "The researcher, the men who traveled with us were all tugging and pulling, trying to keep his head above water and free him from the snake's deadly embrace. Deep down in my heart I knew they wouldn't be able to save him. I had to do something, I had to think fast."

Eyes moist, she looked to the side, gathered the strength to finish. "And then I saw it-clamped in the jaw of one the assistants, a large glowing Cuban cigar. Pushing my way forward, I jerked the glowing stogie from his mouth and jabbed the hot end against the soft underbelly of the serpent. Feeling the pain, the snake jerked and twitched. I continued to jab the hot end along the tender underbelly until I could see the snake's grip had loosened. Finally, they were able to pull Tom free and the giant spasmodically turned and disappeared into the water."

"So you saved Tom's life." Mason stated, noting the similarities in their stories.

Valentina nodded, unable to speak.

"Sometimes adventures, and bending the rules, are not always easy," Mason stated without expecting an answer.

Again, Valentina nodded.

The lawyer sipped his wine and ran his thumb along the crease in the magazine and expertly flipped the pages to the section in the back, the section marked, 'Behind the Scenes'.

Slowly, Mason began to describe the story he had read in 'Behind the Scenes'. "It seems the writer, Tomas Bardem, has expressed his moral outrage concerning the smuggling of endangered species. He was a witness to the violations of CITES, the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species. Upon meeting their contact at the Caracas International Airport they had witnessed first-hand the atrocity of international wildlife smuggling. A suitcase had been confiscated before being loaded on an international flight out of the country. As they stood by, the suitcase had been forced opened revealing what appeared to be at first, neatly packed clothing. But on closer inspection the rows of black socks were hard and stiff. Carefully they were removed and the fabric peeled back. Inside the socks were the bound bodies of a dozen Yellow-eared Parrots, an endangered species found only in the Venezuelan cloud forests. All twelve of the endangered parrots had died from suffocation during their hours of transport. The writer declared his determination to find and bring to justice the elusive ringleader who proudly boasted of being able to deliver the most desired and endangered creatures in the world to anyone- for a price. Bardem referred to the ringleader as 'El Monstruo' or 'The Monster'."

_Valentina stared at the magazine and recalled every moment at the Caracas International Airport. Despite the best efforts of the authorities, word had quickly spread through the black market community. Contacts in Venezuela and around the world were aware of the break and possible threat in the trade. The trip from the airport to the remote research site had been a quiet one. Anxiously she watched as Tom stared out the window of the vehicle in brooding silence. She knew well to leave him alone. Their first night in camp was an uneasy one. They had checked and rechecked their equipment and had settled in their tent. Through the screened entrance the view of a million stars spread out over them. In the dim moonlight she could recognize Tom's profile, he was wide awake. The cool air swirled through the tent and she instinctively moved closer to him and felt his arm circle her shoulders and pulled her near._

"_Tom," she said, slipping her fingers between the folds of his shirt, touching the smooth skin of his chest._

"_Yes," he replied, taking her fingers and holding them._

"_Are you really going to search for 'El Monstruo', bring 'El Monstruo' to justice?" She could feel his body stiffen, bristling at her question. Pulling from his embrace, she sat up and stared down at him, hoping they could discuss his growing preoccupation._

"_And I suppose you don't approve?"_

_She could hear and feel the coolness in his tone and immediately felt the threat to their fun and adventurous Geographic lifestyle. But it hadn't always been fun and game for Tomas Bardem. Before joining the Geographic he had been a war correspondent. She had seen the graphic wounds and scars on his body, each with their own gut wrenching story. 'El Monstruo' had tapped into Tom's war correspondent psyche. The civilian victims Tom had encountered were now being replaced by helpless endangered wildlife._

"_What if the Geographic doesn't approve your project?" she countered using the magazine as a foil._

"_Then screw the Geographic," Tom said angrily. She could detect movement in the shadows, and knew he was turning to face her. "Do you approve?"_

Suppressing tears, Valentina gently closed the magazine. "If you're wanting to know, did Tomas Bardem pursue 'El Monstruo', the answer is yes. Before joining the _Geographic_ he was a war correspondent. You know all about the war, don't you, Perry?"

Mason solemnly nodded.

Valentina took a deep breath and continued. "Tomas Bardem became obsessed with 'El Monstruo'."

"And what about you?" Mason asked. "Were you obsessed?"

Valentina firmly met the lawyer's gaze. "What do you think?"

Mason's face was expressionless, then slowly, he slid the magazine from the table and into his binder. Turning back to his companion, he released a bittersweet smile. "I think we both know the answer to that question."

Suddenly, she leaned toward him, eyes searching. "Do you really understand?"

Mason reached out and took her hand and smiled. "Yes, Valentina, I do."

The artist released a sigh and allowed the lawyer to pull her to her feet. Nervously, she stood and felt a moment of uncertainty, was it the moment or the wine, she couldn't tell. Either way, she felt relief from his reassuring presence and his steadying hand on her elbow.

Mason checked his watch and switched to an upbeat tone. "It's rather late, Valentina, may I suggest we postpone the portrait to another evening."

"Of course, Your….." she quickly caught herself as they walked along to the door. "Of course, Perry, we can always work another time."

"Splendid," Mason replied, dropping his binder on a table and stopping at the hall tree by the door. Valentina retrieved his top coat and helped him slip it on, straightening the shoulders. The lawyer turned and out of habit, Valentina continued to smooth down the lapel and collar. In the dimly lit entry, Mason looked down at the dark hair and nimble fingers and without thinking stated, "What would I do without you, Del…..". As quickly as he spoke, he caught himself. Valentina looked up and shared a knowing look with the jurist and continued to smooth down the front of his coat, when he took her hands in his.

"It's been quite an evening," the lawyer stated, staring down into glistening dark brown eyes.

"Yes, it has,' she agreed, feeling both the softness and strength in his touch. "And next Thursday?"

Mason's eyes looked off for a moment, thinking of all the unanswered questions. "I believe next Thursday is my turn for dinner."

"Oh," Valentina's eyebrows peaked and lips pulled into an 'o'.

"I know a restaurant I think you'll like," Mason said, enjoying the surprise in her eyes.

"Is this a date?" she asked without thinking.

Mason brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I'll let you decide." The lawyer turned, picked up his binder, and opened the door allowing the swirling mist to blow in.

"Good night," he said softly, and closed the door.

~~~tbc~~~

****Author's Note:** I have taken great liberties with TCOT Grinning Gorilla. For those of you familiar with both versions, the series and ESG's books, you will note the mingling of both storylines. I love the fortune cookie and the showdown with Della saving the day at Stonehenge in ESG's books. In the series, TCOT Grinning Gorilla did not appear till the latter half of Season Eight. I couldn't help but notice a cranky Perry and a perky Della. Like Dr. Frankenstein, I have combined the two and hope I haven't created a monster, but something that can be enjoyed, at least in the context of this story.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A special thanks to my beta who wishes to remain exotic and mysterious. You are a great set of second eyes!**_

"**Quid pro quo"**

_**Trials & Tribulations**_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Friday afternoon**_

The courthouse seemed alive; pedestrians swarmed in and around the structure like bees to a giant hive. The window on the tenth floor provided an omnipotent view of the street below. Associate Justice Perry Mason found the window in his chambers to be the perfect place to stop, refocus, a place where he could study human behavior from above. The activity around the building entrance seemed more hurried than usual as waves of reporters streamed into the building. No doubt a newsworthy event had occurred.

Normally a few media people were routinely assigned to the courthouse to receive those daily judicial releases from the administrator's office. The fact that so many reporters had converged on the building indicated something out of the ordinary had taken place. The jurist looked up from the view below and caught sight of his own reflection in the window. His expression had not changed from earlier in the day when he sternly sat on the bench, his face granite-hard with an air of invincibility as the packed gallery watched as he delivered his dissent from the bench. Recalling the moment, Mason's reflection developed a sly smile. The dissent from the bench had been priceless. Hands thrust in his pockets; the lawyer rocked back and forth on his feet and relished the moment. _Damn, he loved a good fight_.

The gallery watched as the robes of the three justices swirled like dervishes as they vacated their seats on the bench and converged in the rear hallway. Preceded by Associate Justice Jameson Clark, the Chief Justice deliberately used his fellow justice as a shield and managed to stay an arm length away from the formidable Mason.

_ "Mason, you've got your nerve!" the Chief Justice barked. "I think it would behoove you to reacquaint yourself with Canon 19 of the Judicial Canons of Ethics issued by the American Bar Association concerning loyalty to one's court and dissent."_

Mason's eyes twinkled and his slight smile broadened at the recollection of their heated exchange. The Chief Justice became anxious and protectively moved his binder to cover his chest as Mason stepped closer and lowered his voice so only the Chief Justice could hear.

_ "Burrows, I think you know what you can do with your Canon 19," Mason said softly, then stepped back and smiled and in a tone of good cheer stated, "Good day, Gentlemen_." _With those words, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway._

Looking off to the clear blue sky Mason recalled the writings of Chief Justice Hughes who wrote "that dissenting is an appeal to the brooding spirit of the law, to the intelligence of a future day, when a later decision may possibly correct the error into which the dissenting judge believes the court has been betrayed." As his team, Leslie Marks and Gloria Steiner sat in his work room the words 'error' and 'betrayed' played over and over again in his head. And so as he spoke from the bench he found it unnecessary to read his written dissent. The document and its step-by-step details regarding the errors in the court's decision were permanently retained in his memory and closed with his opinion and the explanation on how justice had been betrayed. And before he prepared to leave the bench, the plaintiff's attorney managed to catch Mason's eye, and for a split second, the message had been conveyed-Mason had given him all the ammunition he needed for an appeal to the California State Supreme Court. The Chief Justice's attempt at marginalizing and excluding his colleague had backfired, his efforts circumvented. Instead of stopping the case cold at the Appeals level, the case had been boosted to a higher court and out of the hands of the Chief Justice.

Again, Mason cast his eyes below and watched the flow of humanity and chuckled. He knew why the reporters were converging. They were hoping to catch a glimpse, arrange an interview, or somehow manage to snap a photo of the Associate Justice who dared take on the master of their division, Chief Justice Erskine Burrows. Jingling his keys in his pocket, Mason gazed off above the rooftops. He was not a man who chased after fame or notoriety. The fact justice had been served was reward enough, that and the pleasure of seeing the expressions on the faces of Burrows and Clark. Mason's thoughts drifted above the rooftops.

_"Feeling relief?" the soft, sultry voice asked. _

_Mason relaxed even further in the softness of the sheets, stretched and placed his hands behind his head. "Well, as the doctor said, take two aspirin, Della Street and go straight to bed."_

_The sound of silken fabric and a throaty chuckle approached the side of the bed. _

_The lawyer stretched again and enjoyed the sensation of floating on a sea of pleasurable endorphins and a hearty dose of bourbon. "It seems like I've been to hell and back, oral arguments to the Supreme Court, lengthy correspondence with the Governor's pardon secretary. I certainly don't want a repeat performance."_

"_Well, it's all over now." Della Street said, slipping the satin robe from her shoulders. "Janice Barton is a free woman and it's all because you believed in her. She was fortunate to find an attorney like you, Perry, an attorney who would go the extra mile and who knew he was witnessing an error of justice."_

_By the dim glow of the night light Mason admired Della's still trim figure as she slipped between the sheets and moved to his side. Placing his arm around her shoulders he pulled her near. "You know through it all, I couldn't have done it without you, Della." _

_Della Street placed her cheek on his chest and replied. "You know I'll always be there for you, Perry."_

The jurist heaved a weary sigh and stepped away from the window and sat down in his large leather chair, turned, and opened a drawer to his desk. He lifted a magazine that lay on top, a decoy magazine used to conceal an accumulation of letters. Mason took the one on top, and glanced inside. The first page of the letter, like all the others in the drawer, began in the same way, _Dear Della_. Despite his appearance of bravery with the Chief Justice, he had not found the courage to finish or mail his drawer full of letters to Della.

A knock sounded at the door and Mason swiftly returns the envelope to their hiding place. C.C. Caldwell's head and shoulders appeared around the half-opened door.

"Are you available for a conference, Mr. Chief Justice?" she asked, stepping completely into the room.

Mason leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Mr. Chief Justice! Now what's that all about?"

C.C. strolled across his chambers, leaned against the frame of his window and casually glanced down at the street, admiring the view, the same view she had from her own window. "Oh, I think my comment is justified. I've just been watching all the excitement around here. The courthouse grapevine is buzzing with rumors of a legal coup d' etat. It's your dissent from the bench, Perry."

Mason shook his head as he turned to face her. "Coup d' etat! I'm afraid Burrows picked this fight. He was a fool to think I'd just sit there and take it. If Burrows had spent any time at all in the courtroom he should have known to do his homework before picking a fight. And if he had, he would have realized he had picked the wrong man to antagonize."

C.C. chuckled and continued her stroll to the corner of his desk, smiled at her colleague and eased her hip onto the corner of his desk. "It wasn't that you dissented, Perry. It was that you read the dissent from the bench for the press, for everyone to see and hear. Burrows is not going to forget or forgive you for that."

The lawyer's face was a mask of mock incredulity. "You mean our dear Chief Justice might hold a grudge?"

C.C. tossed her head and laughed. "You better believe it. But you know, I think you enjoy this. Somehow I get the impression you want to join the ranks of all those other great dissenters, Holmes, Brandeis, Harlan, Black and Douglas."

Knowing she was attracting his attention by her pose on the corner of his desk, she allow her silken leg to swing ever so gently back and forth as she continued to express her amusement, "I really didn't figure you as a legal bad boy, Perry, or one of those romantic figures of legal disobedience."

Mason's eyes narrowed as he admired her jaunty pose and asked in a playful manner, "C.C. Caldwell, are you flirting with me?"

The justice's eyes widened in disbelief. "Since when is expressing fact-flirting?"

"Aren't you worried you'll ruin your stellar reputation by hanging around me," Mason paused for dramatic effect, then continued. "Hanging around with, as you put it, 'a legal bad boy'?"

"You have to remember, Perry, I was married to "Sparky" Caldwell. He wasn't exactly a meek and mild presence in the courtroom. He earned that nickname legitimately." She hadn't planned to speak so quickly about her husband, the man she considered to be the first great love of her life. And furthermore, she regretted she had revealed far too much of her hidden thoughts to the man she hoped could be the second great love of her life. Mason detected her hesitation and change of mood. Their playful banter had suddenly become very serious.

"So I remind you of Sparky?" Mason asked as he studied his colleague.

C.C. nervously laughed, "I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it that way. Besides, I could never imagine him becoming a judge. He loved his work too much as a prosecutor to leave it. He was one of those legal cowboys who I knew would die with his boots on." She shrugged, looked off for a moment and finally conceded, "And I suppose he did."

Mason nodded his understanding. "I'm sure that was difficult for you."

C.C. stood up, nervously laced her fingers together and walked away from his desk. She regretted bringing Sparky into this. The comment had changed their playful banter to something painfully personal. Smoothing down her skirt, she turned and released a bittersweet smile. "Yes, it was. Seeing someone you love wasting away, well, growing old is not for the weak of heart."

Mason looked off at the Parisian painting and noticed C.C. was following his attention. For a brief pause they were silent, both deep in their own thoughts, when C.C. broke the silence.

Her cheerful, upbeat tone had returned as she turned to face her colleague. "Besides discussing the dissent, I wanted to ask you if you would mind joining some of us for cards tonight?"

The image of delicate, crustless finger sandwiches and formal bridge partners created a dilemma in Mason's mind. How could he say no without hurting her feelings. For a fleeting second Mason's face revealed his conundrum. C.C. Caldwell circled Mason and immediately detected what he tried so hard to conceal.

"Oh, Perry, don't worry, it's not bridge or those teeny, tiny sandwiches, if that's what you're thinking about."

Mason released a relieved chuckle and admired her savvy observations.

"No, a few friends are coming over. They're not courthouse acquaintances if that might concern you. It's a nice group, varied interests, people I have known for years. We'll have drinks, a casual meal and we'll play poker. You know, Texas Hold'em, Stud, you name it; we're game for anything new. It's friendly and low stakes."

Mason grinned and replied. "In that case, I'm in."

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

**Later that afternoon…..**

Leslie Marks slipped into her office and collapsed in her chair. She had been careful to avoid Gloria Steiner. She had learned from experience that Gloria had eyes like an eagle and would have immediately noticed her agitation. The whole day had been a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows.

Leaning forward on her desk, she propped her chin on her fists and stared at the various stacks of papers, research for their dissent. The entire morning had been filled with a palpable energy. Standing to the side of the courtroom she had watched the three justices enter and take their seats on the bench. Butterflies danced in her stomach in anticipation of the events to come. Burrows would address the attorneys standing before them, and express the opinion of the court.

While the Chief Justice spoke she glanced around the packed gallery. Word had quickly spread and a nervous hush had filled the audience as they waited for the big moment. Leslie knew all too well what the big moment would hold. Smiling with satisfaction, she knew, because she had helped draft the dissent. She had spent many hours walking the stacks, collecting and assimilating the research. Under her mentor's tutelage they had spent long hours, shoulder to shoulder, discussing the various points they hoped to make. With growing admiration, she watched her stone-faced mentor seated next to the animated Chief Justice. The side-by-side comparison of the two men was striking. In Leslie's mind, Mason was the seasoned veteran, the filet mignon, the Moet of the acting community, while Burrows was the unsalted hamburger; the Andre served in a plastic cup.

Even the smallest sound in the gallery ceased as the attention shifted to Associate Justice Perry Mason. Leslie felt light-headed and realized she had been holding her breath in anticipation of hearing her mentor speak. His deep, stentorian voice filled the room. Without glancing at the written dissent, Mason addressed the standing attorneys. Leslie couldn't help but smile. In her mind they spoke the words together and she felt as though she were seated on the bench giving the dissent. Working at Mason's side was a dream come true. But then the rollercoaster ride abruptly took a nose dive as her attention shifted to the Chief Justice. A cold shiver ran down her spine as her eyes meet the Chief's icy stare. Suddenly the dream of working by Mason's side had become a nightmare-_she had acquired a formidable enemy_.

_A formidable enemy_, she thought, as she buried her face in her hands and tried to suppress the tears. Again, after the morning session the Chief Justice had found her alone. He seemed to come out of nowhere. _How was this possible_? _Had he been stalking her?_ His voice…. his hands…she could still feel his touch. The moment, the sensation would be with her forever. This time his fondling was not an accidental sleight of hand. The assault was deliberate. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone, leaving her disheveled and distraught. She was caught in the battle between two powerful men. The stakes were too high to complain to anyone. Wiping her eyes, Leslie checked the work area, trying to avoid Gloria Steiner, or worse….Perry Mason. The thought horrified her. Immediately she checked her watch, gathered her belongings and prepared to leave for the day. She couldn't allow her mentor to find her crying. The thought frightened her. _She didn't want to contemplate what Mason might do if he found out what Burrows had been doing. _

Leslie snapped out the lights and hurried from the office.

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

**Later that evening….**

Erskine Burrows, propped against the headboard, stretched and flexed his muscles amidst a tangle of bedding. Sipping the last of his vodka tonic he listened to the running water in the bathroom and noticed the sliver of light beneath the door. Swirling the ice around the empty glass, he reviewed his efforts to drown out the disastrous part of his day with an evening of sex and alcohol.

He hadn't anticipated Mason would write a dissent and then have the nerve to read it from the bench. The whole event had been a media bombshell. In his experience most lawyers he knew were all bluff and no substance. He had underestimated his adversary. Licking his wounds, he had headed back to his chambers when he stumbled across an opportunity he couldn't resist-Leslie Marks, alone and vulnerable. He felt aroused just reliving the moment. Fondling Mason's clerk was just one small way of getting even. He would have to think of new ways to exact his revenge.

But then to his surprise the day had not been a total loss. Arriving in his chambers he found a very receptive and sympathetic Janice Thiery. Peggy's wouldn't be returning from Boston until Saturday allowing him the perfect opportunity to finally consummate their physical relationship. He'd had enough of their office foreplay. Staring at the shadow moving beneath the bathroom door, Burrows felt a gnawing concern, and niggling thoughts. Janice was not the typical clerk he was use to using and discarding like a soiled tissue. Beneath the veneer of naiveté, Janice demonstrated a worldly experience he had not anticipated. She had demonstrated sexual prowess far exceeding his own abilities. He knew immediately as she left the bed and seductively walked into the bathroom he was hooked. Sex with Janice was like a highly addictive drug. Already he was ready for another fix. The thought frightened him. When the time came, could he easily discard her like all the rest? After all, he had to consider Peggy, there was always Peggy. His wife and her position, her family's position gave him the air of legitimacy, respectability. Marriage to Peggy opened doors for him to all the right country clubs, the best social groups; she was his ticket to the world he hoped to belong-the world of a California State Supreme Court Justice.

_Damn! Mason was ruining it all! He had heard the talk spreading like wildfire through the courthouse. He was hearing the talk, the concerns and complaints about disharmony on the court. As a remedy they were actually contemplating Mason as Chief Justice. He was sure by now even the Governor would know about the dissent from the bench and might even be considering Mason for advancement. Hell, the next appointment to the court was always just an elderly justice's heartbeat away. It would be temporary at first until the vetting process was complete. But with his luck, Mason would be there permanently. Mason would have__ his __seat on the Supreme Court. The thought made him ill. _

Suddenly the phone rang and Burrows jumped_. Who could possibly be calling at this time of night?_

He let the phone ring a second time before picking it up and listened before answering. "Hello."

"Hello, Chief Justice," a male voice greeted.

The voice was familiar and immediately Burrows grew anxious. "You're not supposed to call here."

"I wouldn't have to call if you'd just do your job."

Burrows looked for the silver flask, his glass was empty, he needed more alcohol; he needed fortification.

"Are you looking for my little present, the symbol of our association?" the voice asked.

The justice's eyes shifted and darted about the room, wondered if the voice on the phone might somehow be able to see his every move. He was at a loss for words. What could he say? After Mason's dissent from the bench, the case would be easily kicked to the Supreme Court and out of his hands. Burrows remained quiet, hoping the caller would just hang up when he had a disturbing thought. _Janice! Could she hear his conversation?_ Shifting his eyes to the door, he hoped his clerk wasn't listening or step out of the bathroom in the middle of their conversation.

"Look, I can't talk now."

The caller's tone became chilling. "We had a deal, you get something, we get something, _quid pro quo_, remember. This is serious. You don't mess with people's money."

"I know, I know," Burrows anxiously replied, running his fingers through his hair. Abruptly he hung up the phone and prayed it wouldn't ring again.

"Damn, Mason, it's all his fault, he's ruining everything," the Chief Justice muttered, glancing at the phone again, when it suddenly rang. Slipping out of bed, Burrows paced back and forth, staring at the instrument, willing it to stop.

A muffled voice came from the bathroom. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

Feeling the pressure, Burrows snatched up the receiver and roughly answered, "Listen!"

He abruptly stopped at the sound of a feminine voice on the other end.

"Erskine, is that you?"

Burrows released a crazed laugh. "Oh, honey, it's you, what a surprise!"

For a moment the voice on the line hesitated, then laughed. "I have a surprise for you."

Playing along, he laughed. "Oh, great dear, I can't wait!"

"Good," she cooed in a seductive voice, "because you won't have to wait long."

Burrow's eyes slowly widened. "Why's that, honey?"

"Because I finished Boston early and I'm in the limo just minutes away. See you soon, darling."

"See you soon," Burrows feigned enthusiasm. The justice quickly hung up the phone and began frantically scooping up Janice's clothing from the floor and prayed he wouldn't leave anything behind.

**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**

**Later that evening….**

As soon as the door clicked shut, Perry Mason began roughly pulling the tie from his collar and slung it in the direction of a chair. Moving into the kitchen he placed the bag on the counter and began unloading its contents, a fifth of sixteen year old A.H. Hirsch Reserve bourbon whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a _Forbes_ magazine.

Shedding his coat, Mason slung it in the general direction of the chair, not noticing it had also joined his tie on the floor. Loosening the collar of his shirt, he retrieved a shot glass, dropped in a few ice cubes, picked up his supplies and headed for the kitchen table. Leaning back in the chair, he lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he blew out a cloud of smoke and watched the haze form in the circle of light above the table. Bringing the glass to his lips, he downed half its contents and reached for the bottle to fill it again.

For the next several minutes he drank and smoked until the first cigarette was extinguished in a make-shift ashtray. Glancing down at the unopened _Forbes_ magazine, he took out another cigarette and lit it. Again he closed his eyes, and thought about the evening.

_He had easily found C.C.'s Victorian mansion in the Park-Presidio District and parked along the street. Everything was just as C. C. promised. Her guests were friendly, and eager to meet their fellow card player as introductions were made. Mason could feel the scrutiny and, light, but probing questions, as each guest tried to determine the extent of his relationship with C.C. Caldwell. The atmosphere was informal with a small buffet served with a pleasant table wine. The table conversations perfectly matched the professional nature of the diners, it was lively, intellectual and humorous. _

_After dinner, the table was cleared and as though on cue, each of C.C.'s guests set about completing various tasks. Warren, the stock broker, took charge and began making cocktails for everyone as he shared his most recently acquired bad jokes. Mason immediately knew the stockbroker would be the life of the party. Millicent, the lone women in the group, had much in common with her hostess; she too was widowed, professional and still working at an advertising firm in the city. Milton, a thoracic surgeon, began setting up the card table with the help of Stanley, a hematologist/oncologist. Both men had their practices in the area. As promised, no courthouse people were present. For the evening, Mason was safe from gossip and possible media attention. _

_Mason felt C.C. tugging at his arm as she led him into her spacious kitchen. With a critical eye the lawyer had taken note of the spacious Victorian mansion and had drawn a conclusion—the house was all C.C. He could not feel Sparky Caldwell's presence in the elegantly decorated rooms. Not that he was an expert on the man. His only knowledge was what he had managed to glean from the bits and pieces his colleague had chosen to share with him. _

"_Well?" C.C. asked, dropping plates into the sink and gesturing in the direction of the others. Mason carried a stack of plates and set them on the counter next to her._

"_They're fine," Mason reassured her. _

"_Are you enjoying yourself?"_

"_The food was delicious, the company pleasant and now we'll play poker. Don't worry, everything will be fine. What could possibly go wrong?"_

_C.C. wiped her hands on a towel and smiled up at him. "I'm glad you could come tonight."_

_Mason nodded and together they walked out to join the others who were already finding their seats. Warren, the broker, wore a black visor and looked the professional as he expertly shuffled the cards._

_What could possibly go wrong?_ Mason tapped the end of his cigarette over the ashtray and refilled his glass of whiskey and stared at the cover of the _Forbes_ magazine. _There's a story behind every photograph_, Valentina explained. Eyes narrowed, he watched the smoke rise to the ceiling. _Drinking, smoking, his favorite foods, Della, he had given them all away and for what_? Maybe he should be like Paul and drop dead at the office. Maybe C.C. was right; maybe he was like Sparky after all and loved his work too much to leave it. Maybe he was one of those legal cowboys who should die with their boots on. Maybe that's how it should have been. _But what about Della?_

Finishing the glass, he swirled the cubes around and stared at the magazine cover. _Yes, what about, Della?_

_Warren tossed his cards to the center. "That's it amigos, I'm out."_

_ Mason spread his cards on the table and the group whistled and shifted in their seats. The lawyer modestly pulled his winnings across the table. He was thankful the winnings were small and he came out slightly ahead for the evening. Standing and stretching, Warren took his place as bartender and created nightcaps for everyone. Moving into a formal sitting area, the group sat around a small decorative coffee table. Milton, the surgeon, was constantly interested in diversifying his financial portfolio. Turning to the stockbroker, he asked, "Hey, Warren, you got any new companies? Anything open to the public?"_

_ Warren sipped his martini and thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I do, now that you mention it." The broker got up and retrieved his briefcase. Mason watched with interest the group dynamic. Immediately the group's focus was on Warren's newest venture. _

_ "By the way, Stanley, how's that tech stock performing?" Warren asked, sitting down, digging through his briefcase._

_ Mason crossed his legs and leisurely sipped his drink, watching the transition from poker to high finance. C.C. certainly had interesting friends._

_ "It's doing alright. There's some pretty interesting things coming out of the valley. It should definitely make a difference in our operating room equipment at the hospital."_

_ "Great, glad to hear it." Warren nodded and pulled the magazine from his briefcase. The broker placed the glossy covered magazine on the coffee table and dramatically pointed to it. "This, ladies and gentlemen is the future."_

_ Everyone leaned forward and looked at the recent cover of Forbes magazine. Mason sat immobile and nursed his drink while the others strained to read. "The future?" Millicent asked._

_ "I've been checking into this company. It's solid, the CEO is a master engineer who's the best in his field. He's surrounded himself with talent. The man is driven, the man behind the company is Arthur Gordon of Gordon Industries."_

_ Mason's eyes darted to the coffee table at the sound of Gordon's name. _

_Mason recalled stepping to Della's side as they packed and asked, "What will you do?" Della Street's cool and icy response, "It's a little late to be asking that question." _

_The question was a moot point. He knew deep down the answer to the question-'What will you do?' Arthur Gordon had already contacted him concerning Della Street's possible employment. He had shared a cab with the engineer years earlier not realizing in his wildest dreams that someday Della might work for the man._

_ Warren pointed to the cover. "That's Gordon leaving his limo and that…" The broker placed his finger to the interior of the car. "That's Gordon's secretary, and I'll tell you, the man knows how to pick'em-she's a knockout." The men leaned in closer and unanimously nodded their heads in agreement. _

_ "Gordon's company is cutting edge and it's poised to take off next year. If you get in now while the shares are low, you should make a tidy profit. Out in the business trenches I'm hearing government contracts, submarines, transponders, you name it." Warren opened the magazine and pointed out photos of the research facility, clusters of engineers, and a planning session. "There she is again," Warren pointed to another photograph. "I wonder how many times Gordon has chased her around the desk?" Several of the men chuckled._

_ Mason got up and disappeared into the kitchen. C.C. quickly followed to find her colleague leaning against the sink, staring ahead. _

_ "Perry," she said, slipping her arm around his. "Is there a problem?"_

_ "I have some work to finish. I'm sorry, I need to leave. It's been a pleasant evening," Mason said softly and pulled away from the sink, heading to the hallway to retrieve his coat._

The lawyer snubbed out another cigarette in the ashtray, finished the rest of the whiskey and stared again at the magazine. The bright, glossy cover showcased the tall, slender, silver-haired Arthur Gordon, a man who oozed power and influence as he and his companion exited his limousine. The photographer captured the executive as he offered a helping hand to the woman who the magazine identified as Gordon's confidential secretary. Wearing pearls and a navy business suit, Della Street allowed Gordon to take her hand and assist her in stepping out of the vehicle. The photographer, obviously male, had decided to add a little cheesecake to a routine business shot. Nothing sells like money, power and sex and Arthur Gordon possessed all three. The man was a perfect sell, he was listed in Forbes 400 of the rich and well-connected and possessed a secretary who every male agreed was a knockout. He didn't even need to look on the inside or read the story. He knew all too well what he would find. Della Street would be at Arthur Gordon's side, sharing his goals, his dreams. Mason knew he should be happy, he was after all the best at what he did. He had made a living out of manipulating human nature. He had pushed all of Della's emotional button, knowing full well Della would leave and ride with Gordon in that limousine. Attractive, powerful, the best in his field, a man with energy, drive and vision, Della Street would be a fool not to work for a like that. A fool…

_Gordon was attractive, powerful, the best in his field, a man with energy, drive and vision, Della Street would be a fool not to work for a man like that. _Mason shook his head and realized the irony in his comparison. _ After all she had worked for __him__._

_**~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~PM~~~**_

_**Saturday morning…**_

Perry Mason stood outside EATS. Head throbbing, eyes squinting from the bright morning light, the lawyer watched Frank work his magic at the grill. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes he had purchased Friday night, and remembered its companion purchase; the bottle of sixteen year old A.H. Hirsch Reserve bourbon whiskey that sat empty on his kitchen table. Tapping out the last cigarette from the pack he realized the remnants of his old life were quickly disappearing. Would he buy another bottle, another pack? He had to decide.

A gentle breeze wafted the aroma of the cooking food on the grill and Mason felt his stomach turn. He needed coffee and a mental distraction. He needed to think, he needed to clear his head. And now his feet had subconsciously brought him to EATS. Yes, he needed a mystery, an easy on the eye mystery in the form of the curvaceous Mae.

Stepping inside the diner, he encountered the usual male faces at the counter and a scattering of customers throughout the elongated dining area. The seat Mason enjoyed the previous week was vacant. He nodded to the turned heads at the counter and sat down at his table. Taking a quick survey of the eatery, he was disappointed not to find Mae. The same hurried brunette popped out from behind the counter with a coffee pot in her hand.

Following her usual routine, she offered a quick all in one greeting. "Goodmorningdoyouwantsomecoff ee?"

Mason nodded and watched her turn over the porcelain coffee cup and fill it with strong black coffee. The smell was pungent. He glanced over the uniform and its history of culinary mishaps and read the name tag pinned to a small pocket. The tag read- _Inez_.

"Good morning, Inez," Mason greeted. Inez paused, set the coffee pot on the table, placed her hand on her hip and for the first time took a good long look at her new customer. The look of recognition bloomed on her face. She remembered him from last week.

Studying the lawyer's bloodshot eyes; Inez realized her return customer might also be having a rough morning as well. His pleasant greeting and the use of her name immediately caused her to lower her guard. The guy in the suit, even though it looked like he might have slept in it, might listen, might have a sympathetic ear.

"Well, I guess it's a good morning," she finally conceded. Mason tilted his head to the side and gave her a concerned look, encouraging her to share.

The lawyer could smell the aroma of frying bacon and immediately knew his only desire for the morning would be a cup of coffee.

"I'll just have coffee, Inez."

The petite brunette quickly wrote across her order pad, ripped off the page and placed it by the saucer. Meanwhile, Mason had retrieved his wallet and pulled out a bill, picked up the form and handed it to the waitress.

Inez noted the twenty-dollar bill. "I'll be back with your change."

Mason took a sip of the hot black coffee and felt it burn all the way down. Despite his throbbing head, he forced a pleasant smile and offered, "Keep the change, Inez."

The brunette's eyes blinked rapidly. "Are you sure, mister?"

Continuing to smile, Mason replied, "I'm sure, Inez."

The lawyer's sizeable tip, and his obvious concern, caused Inez's shoulders to slump as she released a weary sigh. She wanted to talk.

"What's wrong, Inez?" Mason said in a soothing voice.

The waitress looked around, checking to see if anyone might hear. "It's hard working this whole place by yourself when she takes her extended breaks." Inez bit her lip and nervously thumbed the edges of her order pad. "It's just hard being plain when she's…..."

The lawyer glanced at the row of admirers lined up like a fan club. "It must be difficult for you. After all, you work hard; you're entitled to a decent tip."

Inez looked down at the twenty in her hand and almost wanted to cry.

"What about Frank? Has he noticed her extended breaks?" Mason asked, watching the burly cook talking to one of the men at the counter.

Inez looked over at Frank, then turned away. "No, he's like all the rest, he only notices one thing and it's not her breaks."

Rubbing his temple, Mason suppressed a laugh.

"Rough night?" Inez asked putting together her customer's bloodshot eyes and throbbing temples.

"You could say that."

"You know Mae's not her name."

Mason stopped the massage, dropped his hand and looked up at the server. "How do you know?"

Inez picked up the coffee pot and freshen Mason's coffee, glanced to the side making sure no one could hear. "During one of those extended breaks I heard her talking on the phone in the back." Inez sat the pot down and pretended to take out her order pad again. "Her real name is Maybelline. She told us it was Mae. And I guess it could be Mae or May."

"Maybelline," Mason repeated, eyes narrowed. "And a last name, did you hear a last name?"

Exasperated, Inez rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, and tried to recall. "No, I can't remember, she said it so quickly with that Southern belle accent of hers. I just remember it sounded like the name of a drink."

"An alcoholic drink?"

The petite brunette pointed to the lawyer. "Yeah, that's right. It sounded like an alcoholic drink. I'm sorry. I wish I could have heard it better."

Mason dismissed the problem with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Inez, it's a minor detail." Again, he took a sip of the coffee and smiled. "Please feel free to share again."

The weary waitress fingered the twenty as she placed it in the small pocket behind her name tag. "I'd be delighted. Let me know if you feel like eating anything."

The lawyer appreciated her concern, but was quite confident the black coffee would be all he required. "Thank you, Inez, the coffee will do quite nicely."

"You're welcome," she replied, turned and began to make her rounds with the coffee pot.

Rubbing his fingers along his temples, he slowly sipped the black coffee.

_ The figure by his side placed both hands on his desk and leaned in, looking directly at him. The voice was soft and silky. "I don't know that I like that, Mr. Mason. Taking the poor girl to a bar, plying her with drinks, flirting with her, all in an effort to separate her from her secrets. Now it's even worse, you're using money, a generous tip, for heaven's sake the poor girl's bread and butter, to work free some little tidbit of information. No, I don't know that I like that."_

Mason cupped his hand around the coffee cup and whispered under his breath, _"I know, Della, I know."_

The sound of shuffling and movement came from the counter. Looking up, the lawyer could see the fan club coming to life, coming to attention. In the doorway stood the woman they all anxiously waited to see. Poised like Mae West at the top of the stairs, she knew every male eye would be watching as she smoothed down the apron that covered her figure hugging uniform. Mae definitely knew how to make an entrance.

Slowly, the lawyer lowered his cup and he too watched the performance, the way her hips swayed as she walked to retrieve the other coffee pot. As graceful as a dancer she elegantly turned, the pot balanced in her hand, as she began holding court with her adoring subjects, pouring one cup after another. The working men in uniform fawned over her, all in the hopes she might express an interest in going out with them. Each day was a new challenge, trying to find the right look, the right line that might win over the blonde beauty.

Slowly, the lawyer's brain began to clear as he processed Inez's information. The diminutive brunette was eager to share to a customer who understood her plight. He had planted the seed and over the weeks to come he hoped to harvest more useful information. The twenty-dollar bill tucked neatly in the server's uniform would guarantee her hearing would improve.

In the meantime, Mason enjoyed the view, watching Mae plying the men with coffee with her sole purpose of receiving a sizeable tip. Moving down the line, Mae paused, looked in his direction, and remembered a return customer-Mr. Blue. Immediately her lashes fluttered and her full lips pulled into a seductive smile. Mason reciprocated, both with his eyes and his lips. One of the men in line noticed her attention had shifted elsewhere, turned, and gave the lawyer an annoyed look. Not wanting to lose her tip, Mae returned her attention to her fans and only occasionally would she dare steal a look in the lawyer's direction. Mason continued watching the show as a soft and silky voice filled his thoughts.

"_Don't flatter yourself, counselor," Della said, as they sat down at their table. The shapely blonde seated at the bar across the room continued to hold Mason's attention. Straightening the hem of her dress, the secretary watched the lawyer stealing glances in the blonde's direction. _

_He had stopped in the bar for a drink while he waited for Della Street's arrival. Nursing his drink, he first detected a heady perfume and the brush of a hand along his thigh as someone slipped onto the stool beside him._

"_I hope this seat's not taken," she breathlessly asked as the shapely blonde's eyes inspected the lawyer from head to toe._

"_No," he answered simply, glancing down at her form-fitting black dress and daring décolletage._

_Della Street watched as the blonde continued to glance in their direction, watching and waiting to see if Mason was still looking. Casually picking up the menu, she noticed Mason hadn't picked up his. "No, I wouldn't be too flattered."_

_The lawyer turned his attention to his secretary. "I was having a drink while I waited for you, when she asked if the seat was taken. I said no."_

_Over the top of her menu Della's keen eyes swept over the bar. "There are other empty stools, Perry."_

_Still not picking up his menu, the lawyer followed his secretary's eyes. "Your point?"_

_Eyes moving over the menu, Della coolly replied, "The blonde's calibrated eyes were seeing dollar signs when she took the seat next to you."_

_The blonde continued to move the umbrella around in her fruity tropical drink while continuing to observe the lawyer._

_Turning the page, Della continued her analysis while the lawyer looked on. "Did you offer to light her cigarette?"_

"_Yes," the lawyer replied, still watching the blonde._

"_Did she place her hands around yours as if to steady your lighter?"_

"_Yes," he again replied, amazed at her intuitive powers._

"_I bet she has eyes like a jeweler's loupe. And of course, you would have had to bring out that ten karat gold lighter, the one engraved with your initials when you were lighting her cigarette. With those polished nails she would cup your hand with hers and with those calculating eyes would quickly appraise the value of that pinky ring I gave you for Christmas and your pearl and onyx cufflinks and at the same time appraised and added the value of your Piaget watch. She would then add on the price of your cologne, your fresh shave, haircut and manicure." Della's eyes moved up and down the menu while her companion looked back and forth from the bar to his secretary, marveling at her observations. _

_Della continued. "The blonde's mind was probably working like an adding machine calculating all those dollars. It would be equally important for her to have an eye for men's fashion. It helps when getting a first impression from across the room. She would need a way to weed out the chaff. With one quick glance she knew you were her top pick. You were easily selected by your expensively cobbled shoes, your tailored suit, your expensive silk tie, gold tie pin, and your tailored Turnbull and Asser shirt. Immediately she knew you were a man of means."_

_Lowering and folding the menu, Della Street neatly folded her hands on the table. "So don't be too flattered, Counselor, you've been appraised from head to toe-you're quite a catch- you're quite a sugar daddy."_

_Mason shook his head, took one last look at the shapely blonde, picked up his menu and softly laughed. "Della…..you are amazing."_

_Della Street released a satisfied sigh. "Yes, I know."_

_Reading through the menu, the lawyer shook his head and chuckled._

The jurist sipped his coffee and watched the curvaceous blonde move down the counter of EATS attending her line of male admirers. At every opportunity, she would catch the lawyer's eye and deliver a smile-_a very special smile meant just for him_.

_A sugar daddy, Mason thought. Well, two can play at that game. _

_~~~tbc~~~_


End file.
